Finding a Home
by harliesue
Summary: A teenage girl only wanted to get back to America, but a bomb and a consulting criminal put her in the hands of an army doctor and consulting detective. DISCLAIMER: I do not own any characters that were produced by SACD or BBC
1. Bombs and Eggs

_Waiting is incredibly dull; especially in airports. I despise lines. They are always keeping me from moving forward. I already know everything about everyone in this line. Widowed husband in front and possibly gay partners behind. All terrifyingly-_**BEEP**.

Heads swivel to the noise to find out what is going on. Everyone stares at Amelie Emmerton in accusation, including the security guards. _Oh lovely. The sheep are looking at me like I am a big bad wolf. Except for the gay couple. Tall, dark, and handsome is just looking peeved and military doctor is looking amused with it all. I'm sure I look like the tall one, as well. All I want to do is get back to America and away from this blasted country. _

Some officer asks, "Ma'am, could you please step this way?"

"Yeah, sure. What's the problem?"

"We are going to have to search you. You will feel my hands, so do not be alarmed."

"Alright. Can I ask why?"

"Can you pull out your pockets?"

"Well, my back ones don't come out and I'm pretty sure all that is left in them is lint." Amelie tries to break all of the tension with her humor, but the guard just looks more seriously at her. _Five more arrived to surround the area. Dear god, what did I do._

"Step over there by that machine."

"I don't understand, what is going on?" _Honestly, I cannot fathom what is going on. That in itself is terrifying. _

"Step over to that machine."

"Okay, okay." Amelie raises her hands in surrender as the guard tries to force her over to the machine. The man at the machine is kinder, but still looks darkly at her. _Could they possibly think I am a terrorist? For heaven's sake, I am sixteen years old. Then again, I am more intelligent than half of the people in the room and oh, no. They stopped the lines. They do think I am a threat. What did I do?_ The man scanned Amelie's hands and the machine stayed silent as only a green box that gave her the clear came on the screen. _Thank you! Now I can get on my plane and-_

Two officers come over and take Amelie by the arm. "You will come with us, please?"

"What is going on? I haven't done anything and I just want to get back to America."

"Your departure will be postponed until we receive answers from you."

"You do realize I haven't received any of my own, but I think I can help you out now by stating I am not a threat." _Handsome is looking extremely upset now. What is he doing? Is he walking over-_

A deep baritone voice accompanies the mystery man as he stalks towards the group now surrounding Amelie. "What is going on here? You do realize this is not how a possible threat is dealt with, do you not? My partner and I would like to board our plane so we can finish a blasted case and all of you are mucking about trying to get this girl to come with you. Also, she is right. You haven't answered one of her questions and I wouldn't care one bit on any other day, but I am in a hurry now, so I'm begging you, please get these problems handled or I will." _Tall, dark, handsome and intelligent. I should've paid him more attention. Also, more to his partner, as well. Not a gay couple then. Business relationship and possibly friends. Oh, army doctor is talking to mystery man now. I wonder- _"Excuse me, but I would really like to know what it is that I have done!"

Heads swivel again as Amelie loudly repeats her question. Still no one answers. Throwing her hands up in exasperation she begins to walk to the office door by herself to answer these peoples' questions. "Honestly, I don't understand how I can deal with this. All I wanted to know is the one answer that I cannot figure out by myself and all of you are just standing there stammering like children!"

The partners (possibly involved in the justice system knowing that they were going to America to work on a case) turned to look inquisitively at Amelie. The man she could figure little about stared almost right through her and she could feel his deductions rolling off him in waves. She has never had what she does turn on her before. It is slightly terrifying.

The short one pulls something out of the taller man's coat pocket and opens it up. "We are going to take over this case now and see what can be done while you all stand around. Don't try to stop us or I will contact your authorities. Get the lines moving again and do your jobs for once. Also, information on why we are talking to the girl."

Someone speaks up and says, "Her suitcase had a suspicious item inside of it. May be bomb related."

The tall one shakes his head. "Surely you couldn't have simply opened it and removed the item."

"That isn't how we work, sir."

"Obviously," and on that note the duo walked over to where Amelie was standing dumbfounded. _A bomb? A bomb related item in my bag? I didn't even have anything metal inside of my bag, I don't understand. How-_

The short one started to talk to Amelie first after putting all three of them in the office room. "Are you okay?"

_No. _"Yes."

The man looks deeply at her and then turned towards the tall one. "Explain to me why we are doing this again?"

The tall one just smiles at the army doctor and turns towards Amelie. "So, a bomber, are you? How interesting, really didn't peg you for one."

"I really don't understand how any of this is happening. I didn't even open my bag since I left the hotel and I'm fairly certain I didn't put anything bomb- Oh."

"What is it?"

"I did open my bag. Here. Just before I went in through the security lines. A man in a white V-neck and black jeans ran into me and my suitcase spilled open. I wouldn't have thought anything of looking at the man, but I noticed his shoes. Italian style and extremely expensive. I only remembered him because he had expensive shoes, but an outfit that screamed a ten-dollar worth. It was weird, as was he. He was about your height," Amelie points at the shorter one, "but was much paler and had black hair."

The tall one smirks and turns towards the doctor. "See? I knew it."

"You guessed, didn't mean you knew it."

"Happened four times this month, I did know it as soon as I saw the machine go green and the officer's move in."

"Could have been a coincidence this time."

Mysterious turns to look at Amelie and shakes his head, "It wasn't, though, clearly. The man you just had contact with is one of the most dangerous people you will ever meet. His name is James Moriarty."

_James Moriarty... It couldn't be, but it is. Her parents best friend and is apparently the most dangerous man she will ever meet. Another piece to my puzzle. _"I know who James Moriarty is. I can't believe I didn't recognize him, but I haven't seen him since I was a little girl."

"What," the pair asks in unison.

"James Moriarty. I know him. He is, was, my parents closest friend."

"Friend," the tall one asks.

"Well, yes. Not anymore, though. My parents, they died. It was a car crash that was blamed on technical failures, but I never believed it. I think they were murdered. The only proof I have is that they had an argument with Jim the night before and started to pack a suitcase only to turn up dead the next day. I never suspected Jim, but now, I don't know what I suspect." _Could I seriously have just run into my parent's murderer?_

"What did your parents do?"

_Why is he so curious about me? _"On record, they were florists. I think they may have done more than that, but I never had evidence."

"Interesting..."

"Can I ask what we are doing here? Clearly, you aren't officials that can actually deal with a terrorist and all you have asked is about my bag and my parents. I don't see any progress being made to me leaving here and on my way back home."

"America isn't your home. If you had people who were waiting for you there, then yes it would be, but you are travelling with expectations of disappointment."

"How did you-"

"No, don't ask that. Right now, we are going to leave and figure this out at my," a stern look gets shot at Mysterious from the doctor, "our, flat. Come along." With that said, the pair left with Amelie trailing behind.

"Wait! We can't just leave, I haven't been cleared or anything."

"Just you trying to stay here to prove your innocence is proof enough for me to clear you. Plus, I texted Mycroft."

_As if that explains anything._ "So, we are just going to walk out?"

"Well, if you would prefer to skip I suppose we could manage that."

_Oh, the sass from this one._ "What about my bag?"

The doctor comes jogging over with Amelie's case in his hands. "Got it."

"Thank you, John."

_So, John is his name. _"How did you get it?"

"It was tossed with a bunch of unclaimed luggage; I just kind of grabbed it. Also, I checked inside. There wasn't anything in it that was 'bomb related'"

"How did you know it was mine?"

"Someone had put a red tag on it. I just assumed that meant it was a possible threat bag, which would have been yours."

_That is slightly brilliant. _"Good assumption, Doctor Watson."

The trio had been already on their way to the entrance of the airport when Amelie said this. The doctor in question stopped short and then ran to catch up with the still walking pair. "How did you know I was a doctor?"

"I knew you were of military bearing first. I saw that in your manner of walking and authority. Also, the haircut gave it away a bit. I only assumed doctor because a military man would tend to have more injuries, but the only injury is to your left shoulder. So, you were in the army for an admirable amount of time, judging from your still fading tan, and didn't receive many injuries. Not in the direct line of fire a lot, but still in a danger zone. Only a medic fits there and since you were clearly a commanding man, a doctor was the most likely. I got Watson from seeing the upper portion of your ticket in your coat pocket."

"Amazing."

"Really, I don't see what the big deal is. I just simply observed and deduced. Not the hardest thing."

"Sherlock, how did you possibly manage to save the one girl who is exactly like you?"

_So, there is a name to the face. _

"Can you deduce me?"

Amelie turns her head towards Sherlock as they all stop at the curb of the pickup/drop-off point outside. "All I have gotten from you is detective, but not a private eye. More like a freelancer, but you are extremely good at what you do. Also, that you enjoy to pickpocket officials."

Sherlock's face turns from a look of smugness into one of interest. "Consulting detective. Only one in the world. How did you manage to get your last deduction, though?"

_That one was just a shot in the dark._ "The identification John took from you could only be obtained through the police. Seeing as you didn't immediately pull it out meant that you only used it for convenience and not for official business, which I concluded that you had taken it."

"Very good." The gaze is turned full force on Amelie as Sherlock tries to pick out new things about the girl. "What is your name?"

"Amelie Emmerton." A noise of amusement slips through Sherlock's mouth and Amelie turns on him. "Don't be so coy about my name,_ Sherlock_." She draws out his name to make her point. The doctor makes a quick snort and the detective just stares blankly at Amelie. Suddenly, a black car pulls up to the triad and the door opens from inside. A cool voice beckons from within. "Do come in brother dear. I fear we may have to discuss why you are getting involved with terrorists at the- Oh hello." The voice turns to Amelie as she ducks her head inside. The man she sees inside might be Mycroft, and is apparently Sherlock's brother. _Government official, but I can't place him in any spot in particular. Older than Sherlock, but not so old that could cause those faint wrinkles. Stressful day, then. Must have pulled a lot of strings for me to get out of the airport without sporting a pair of handcuffs. Tension between the siblings, but I like them both. I have a feeling I may end up being forced to side with one of them if a fight breaks out. _"Hello."

"So, you are the one who I have gone through all this trouble for and you are American. You must be important in more than one way. Involved with James Moriarty are you?"

The shock showed clearly on Amelie's face because the rest of the men started to chuckle. Mycroft began to speak again. "I can assume you already deduced I am a government official and I can tell you that you are slightly correct. With my position, I can survey any area and when I heard there was a possible terrorist at the airport my brother was at, I put my resources to use. Please, do tell me of what you know of Mister Moriarty."

* * *

The rest of the car ride consisted of Amelie retelling her story and adding in details that she may have purposefully missed. Also, she let forth everything she knew about James Moriarty. From his clothing style to his old phone number, she told them the whole shebang. The entire time there was only silence from the now known as Holmes boys and a shake of the head from John as she got to an emotional point in her story. It was odd having that sympathy coming from someone who clearly had seen and heard worse. Odd, yet comforting, even though she didn't need comforting. Never had the thought of emotional pain ever come about, but having that small gift of affection was appreciated. _I think this sentimental feeling is not the worst thing I have ever experienced. Dangerous, yes, but worthy to look further into. The car is slowing down, have we arrived?_

The driver opened the car door and Sherlock dashed out and up a set of stairs to a door marked as 221. As Amelie climbed out slowly after John she took notice of street signs that indicated Baker Street. 221 Baker Street... Amelie took a long look around as she tried to decide just where in England she was. As the bustle of city life made its presence known in the frosty air, she decided London. She was supposed to be heading back to a comfortable temperature in Florida, but now here Amelie stood, taking in the effects of watching her breath swirl like smoke coming out of a chimney. It reminded her of living in New York. Not that she missed the cold, but the scenery that it provides is nice. An elegant tone from behind her brought Amelie back to reality. "Are you going to need anything else, Amelie?" _Oh, Mycroft, how noticeable it is that you are forcing yourself to be polite._

Pasting a smile on her face, Amelie turned around and simply said, "No." _Actually, I really have the need of warmer weather in America, but other than that, no._

Mycroft could see what was behind the smile and simply chuckled. "I will be seeing you again, quite soon, dear. Thank you for all the information you have provided. It has proved invaluable." Then, with a quick movement, Mycroft Holmes shut the door and the car sped away. _I cannot decide if the man is simply creepy or intimidating. I like him. _

Slowly, Amelie turned away from the curb and stared at the door of the supposed flat of Doctor John Watson and Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes. Its location is next to a café looking shop named Speedy's. _I wonder who the landlord... No, clearly landlady, is. _

Before she could decide on the profile, John made a loud noise from the doorway of 221 Baker Street. _How long has he been standing there? How long have I been standing here? Flushed cheeks and relaxed position confirms five to six minutes. Zoning out isn't necessarily something I do. The cold is off setting my mind._

"So, are you going to come inside, or freeze to death out here?"

"You are a doctor, John. You know that dying from the cold isn't remotely likely as of this moment."

"I swear to god you are a female Sherlock. I don't know how I will put up with two geniuses."

"You aren't putting up with me. I am not staying here."

"Oh, you aren't are you? Then, where are you going?"

_Drats. The doctor has a point. _Silence is the only answer Amelie gives to John. John doesn't stay quiet waiting for her to answer, though. "Listen, before we go inside, I have to say something."

"Shoot, doctor."

"Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes are the most bitter of enemies. The first day I met Mycroft, he described himself as Sherlock's arch enemy. People don't have arch enemies, but then again Sherlock isn't like people." John stops for a moment as he allows himself to chuckle at the thought of his friends' dramatics. "Anyways, that car ride was the first time I have ever experienced a non-controversial moment between them. I don't know what it is about you, but I think having three geniuses in the car may have evened out the board between them."

_Should I say thank you or-_ "Doctor Watson, what is your point?" _Oh, dear brain, I meant to think that, not say it._

"My point being, I think you are not a terrorist, for starters, and the second, that I certainly don't mind putting up with you if you can make the Holmes brothers that calm." John paused a moment before continuing, taking in Amelie's expression. "Now that you understand the situation, would you please come inside?"

_The doctor was wrong. We had four geniuses in that car. He is just a different kind of genius. _"Yes, I think I might," and with that Amelie swept past John in a flurry to get warmth back into her system._ Good god, it is nice in here. Smells like a home. Landlady is most likely an older woman._

"Oh, hello", a woman's voice comes from the doorway.

"Hello."

The woman bustles over as Amelie gives a fresh shudder from the cold. "John! What were you doing keeping the poor girl outside. Oh, come on in here, dear, I will fix you up a cup of tea."

"I don't particularly like tea. Coffee is alright, though."

"You are American? Why are you here all alone in London?"

"There was a-", _how to word this without sounding like a terrorist. _John came to her rescue by saying, "a discrepancy at the airport caused her to have to postpone her flight and Sherlock and I were there to help her out. No need to worry about her Mrs. Hudson. She isn't alone." On that note, John left to go upstairs.

_Mrs. Hudson is her name...Anyone who dares to say that man isn't a genius is going to have to offer a mountain of evidence to prove otherwise. Thank you to whoever made John Watson be alive and existing. _"I am also perfectly capable to take of myself. It is just more convenient to stay here until I have my...situation... corrected."

"Oh, you sound so much like my Sherlock upstairs. I'll tell you dear, I won't doubt you for a second, but people always need someone to take care of them. It is just our nature." Mrs. Hudson handed Amelie a cup of coffee as she said this. The steam beckoned her appetizingly and the taste was just right.

_I don't know why I am listening to this. I have been alone for years now. I don't need anybody. Alone shields me from the unpleasant things in life. _"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. I believe I am alright now. I think I will follow John upstairs." _I said that rather mechanically. Should I apologize or just say thank you for the coffee. _"Mrs. Hudson?"

"Yes, dear?"

"I'm sorry for being rather rude. You have a point. People shouldn't be alone. Thank you for the coffee. It is absolutely delicious."

"Oh, don't be sorry. The cold makes us a bit snappy sometimes. Off you go, I am sure you want to get back to America as soon as possible and I've just been keeping you. Up, up." Mrs. Hudson began shooing Amelie up the stairs while grabbing a blanket and handing it to her. _That woman is a miracle worker. Comfort, coffee, and a blanket? I am glad I apologized. _

As that thought finished, Amelie opened up the door to what is apparently 221B in the building. Her eyes darted over the room in a quick scan for threats and to get an idea of the place she was going to be staying at for the time being. John was in a comfortable looking chair with a laptop and smiled at her as Amelie glided in. _Well, I hope I glided. I suppose it is hard to look cool wrapped in a blanket clutching a cup of coffee like its life itself. _Sherlock was nowhere to be seen, but Amelie could hear him perfectly fine behind a door. _Bedroom, maybe? Is that a violin? Yes, it is. Tchaikovsky, I believe. _Still looking around at her environment, Amelie notices four really prominent things. One, the spray painted smile on the right wall with bullet holes in it. _Target practice? _Then, there was the skull on the mantelpiece. It was, without a doubt, genuine. The third thing that she noticed was the stairs, which indicated a second room. _Maybe it is John's bedroom. _Finally, the kitchen. What looked to possibly be a table was covered in a chemistry set and other items. There appeared, resting on the opposite counter, a jar of fingers and the fridge looked rarely used for food. _I wonder if I could just take a peek... _Her movement towards the fridge stopped short by a sudden imposing figure. _Has no respect for personal space._

"Sit", Sherlock commanded to Amelie with his bow.

"Where?"

"Don't be dull, find a chair." With that, Sherlock climbed over John, a table and flopped lazily into the other chair. _I was going to sit there. Guess I will take the couch. _

"Sherlock! You can disrespect furniture, I really don't care, but you simply cannot climb over me."

"I wasn't aware you cared, John."

John only stayed mute and continued his earlier work on his laptop. Amelie had managed to make it to the couch before feeling the gaze of the man-child rest on her back. Quickly she whipped around and stared back into the smoke-filled eyes. Sherlock looked down first, pretending to do something important to his bow. Amelie smirked with the thought of winning that battle. "Tchaikovsky", she said.

Sherlock snapped up his head from his inspection of his bow and a small smile threatened to break through. "I wasn't aware you understood music."

"I not only understand music, but I also play." With that Amelie walked straight over to Sherlock, took his violin bow, grabbed the violin lying at his feet and began to weave music through the flat. Both John and Sherlock looked at Amelie with shock as notes poured out of the instrument. Just as quickly as she had begun, Amelie stopped the music short and handed the violin and bow to the silent detective, then stalked back to the couch and spread herself over every inch that her five foot two body could cover while placing her fingers underneath her chin in a prayer like form. John suddenly had a mad fit of laughter and almost fell out of his chair.

"What's so funny Doctor Watson", Amelie asked.

"You...Just... Made... hold on..." John choked on another wave of laughter. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry", he said as he wiped tears from his eyes. "It's just that I haven't seen Sherlock so stunned and silent since the case with Irene Adler, and even then, he still could make out words!" John looked over at Sherlock with a knowing look and Sherlock just rose and shoved the violin at Amelie.

"What-", Amelie tried to ask before Sherlock interrupted her.

"Your piece, you didn't finish it. Do it now."

Slowly, Amelie rose from her place on the couch and took the violin from the towering man in front of her. "Why?"

"Because I said so and you are a guest here until we understand why Moriarty is planting almost-bombs in suitcases. When the time comes that you leave, I want to have been able to hear the end of that piece."

"You say it like you might not if I don't play it now."

"I have the experience to know that things always need to have been finished and heard in case of disaster." As Sherlock said that, he turned to John and a silent conversation passed between them. _There is so much to learn from these two. _

"Fine." Amelie began to play after that and a sad melody broke out from the song she played before. Its tortuous tune brought both John and Sherlock back to looking at Amelie. She didn't even notice that Sherlock sat in front of her studying the notes she played, committing them to memory. Instead she focused on how lovely the strings felt on her fingers and the deep resonance the violin produced. The song moved through the twisting patterns into a faster and more lifting pace. _As if someone were running towards a light at the end of a tunnel. _The speed slows down again after its climax and a lost sounding air came into the room. _Even after the light, it still doesn't mean you find what you are looking for. _The song came to a soft end and Amelie set the violin down, without looking up. She notices certain wetness on her cheek that could have only been caused by a tear. As if in confirmation, she saw a drop fall into her open hands. _I haven't played that song since Granddad's funeral. _

"Thank you."

Startled by how close the detective was without her knowing she looked sharply up. "Yes, well I suppose I didn't have much of a choice of playing or not. Now, when are we going to work on my dilemma?"

Sherlock looked closely at Amelie before standing up and climbing back into his seat with his violin. "Tomorrow. Tonight, you sleep."

"I function just fine without sleep."

John was the one who piped up this time. "Amelie, you haven't worked with Sherlock Holmes before. I have. Trust me when I say, take this one night to sleep because until we finish your problem, there will be little time to do so."

Amelie gave her best glare at the military doctor, but he wouldn't back down. _That isn't fair. _"Fine", and without a word Amelie flopped over on her side and pulled the blanket back up around her. John chuckled again and she could hear him get up and walk over to her.

"Amelie?"

"Yes, _doctor_." Amelie was careful to really draw out that word.

"You don't have to sleep now. It is only seven at night."

Cursing herself silently, Amelie sat up and turned towards John. "Oh," was all she could muster to say.

"Would you like something to eat?"

Just as she was about to say no, her stomach grumbled in protest. Yelling at her stomach for being so loud she turned up to look at John. "I suppose I would."

John smiled kindly at Amelie before heading out into the kitchen. "Anything you want in particular?"

"Food."

John's head peered around the corner to look accusingly at Amelie. "I can think of a lot of things that could be food and you wouldn't like one bit."

_We are going to vague threats now. I feel accepted already. What do I actually want, though? _"I would like eggs."

"Eggs? What kind?"

"There are different types of eggs?"

John gave her a sad look which Amelie didn't understand before saying, "Yes. Plenty of different kinds. Scrambled, sunny-side-up, boiled, hard yolk, just whites, you name it, kid."

Amelie furrowed her brows at the choices he gave her. "Scrambled sounds most interesting. Let's go with that."

"Anything else?"

"Ketchup and toast on the side, please."

"Ketchup?"

_John asked that rather incredulously. _"Yes, of course. Anything new I am going to eat, I eat with ketchup."

"Alright, scrambled eggs, toast, and ketchup coming up."

_I feel this is rather childish. Like, I should know what scrambled eggs are and- _A yelling of John's name interrupted Amelie's thought. _Must Sherlock be so loud?_

"John!"

"What?"

"I would like the same thing as our guest."

"I'm not your chef, Sherlock."

"John, please", Sherlock whined.

John, with spatula in hand, just threw his hands up and said, "Alright! You are so getting the milk next time, though."

All Sherlock did to reply was smirk and say, "No I'm not," very quietly.

"I heard that," came yelled from the kitchen.

Sherlock looked like he was just caught stealing the crown jewels as John stood with his arms crossed in the doorway. He relented to the soldier's glare fairly easily. "Fine, fine, fine... Just once, though."

"Good", and with that John walked back to the kitchen to finish making the eggs and toast.

Amelie stared between the two men and couldn't help, but shake her head. _Not a couple, but definitely could be. I swear if that wasn't the most domestic thing I have ever heard, I don't know what to think. _

Sherlock seemed to hear Amelie's thoughts and simply said, "He's not gay", then went back to plucking at his violin.

"Never said he was." Amelie received no answer from Sherlock except a little twitch at the corner of his mouth. "Thank you, by the way."

"For what?"

"For saving me at the airport, for giving me a place to stay, and for allowing me to touch that beautiful instrument."

"The first was necessary as your information on Moriarty was vital to helping me. The second was only a payment for the information and the third. I wanted to hear you finish your piece. That couldn't have been done without you touching it of course."

"Logical. Yet, I appreciate all of it still."

"Illogical. Yet, I feel as though I should say you are welcome."

"Definitely illogical" and Amelie began to truly smile for the first time in a tremendously long while. She was passing through old memories of happy moments when a plate was gently set on her lap. The yellow puffiness and vibrant red gave the meal a pleasant look. The toast had marmalade on it. _I loved marmalade._ Breathing deep to make sure every aroma becomes inhaled and remembered for future reference, Amelie took her first bite of scrambled eggs smothered in ketchup. "Mmmm." _Did I make that noise? _She opened her eyes that she didn't realize she had closed to look at the other two occupants of the room. John looked at her with that smile of his and Sherlock... Sherlock was just as involved in the meal as she was.

"This is really good. Thank you, Doctor."

John's smile grew even more when he heard that. "You are quite welcome."

Another mouthful slipped into her mouth and another. She made quick work on the toast in between bites and soon enough, when Amelie went to stab another egg part, her fork came up empty. A frown became quite prominent on her face and John had noticed.

"Cleared your plate rather quickly, "John said smugly.

"Yes, well. It was good and I was hungry. I didn't have time to savor it and put it in my bank of things to remember, though." Again, a frown came back as Amelie looked at her empty plate. "Could you make more?"

A deep voice came from behind John and said, "For me, as well, please."

John turned quickly around and saw Sherlock's polished plate. "Really? I, uh, of course." As John said that, he took both Sherlock's and Amelie's plates and rushed off to the kitchen to supply them with more eggs and toast.

"I have never had something so seemingly unappealing be appealing before," Sherlock announced.

"That's the magic of ketchup. It can make the eating of the unborn so much tastier."

"Eating of the- oh. Eggs. That is a clever way to put it."

"If you didn't notice, Mister Holmes, I am quite clever."

"Indeed, you are."

The pair stayed quiet until John came back with fresh orders. Then, a few thank you's were tossed about and the sound of silver against porcelain became the noise for the next couple of minutes.

_This has definitely been committed to memory. _Amelie made a drum out of her stomach as she sat back content. "Doctor Watson, you are miracle cooker. That was excellent."

"I can also make a killer beans on toast if you are ever up for it."

Amelie scrunched her nose at the thought, but if the doctor said it was good, then she may just be up to try it.

"John."

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"Make sure we have a plentiful supply of ketchup from now on."

"Already on my list, next to milk, which, by the way, you are still getting."

Sherlock only smiled and curled into a ball around his violin. A few notes came around now and then as he plucked at the strings, but it seemed like a content tune. The rest of the night passed with very little said. Amelie soon grew tired and went to go change into her oversized Journey shirt and sweatpants, while putting up her dirty blonde locks into a messy bun. As she came out she made sure to stay quiet as she saw Sherlock staring contentedly at John while he had closed his eyes in rest. _John isn't gay. Sherlock never said anything, though. _The thought was only fleeting as she crossed the room and eyed Sherlock in her peripherals. He had hastily gone back to his violin and started plucking away different chords with no pattern. _The consulting genius is more of a teenager than I am. _Amelie made her way over to the couch, but saw that John had looked extremely uncomfortable in passing him. "What do you think detective?"

Startled out of somewhere deep in his mind Sherlock replied quickly with a, "What do you mean?"

Amelie sighed and looked pointedly at the doctor. "Do you think we should wake him or leave him be?"

Sherlock crinkled his nose at the thought of moving John, but decided that he would rather have John comfortable than easy to occasionally glance at. "Wake the doctor up."

Amelie nodded in agreement and padded over to the sleeping John. "Doctor. Doctor Watson," Amelie whispered with a gentle shove. The doctor stayed steadfast in his sleep, though.

"Oh for god's sake, Amelie, he was a military doctor. Slept through the night in a war zone, don't think being gentle with him is going to wake him up, do you?"

"I... No, I suppose not. You wake him up, then."

"Me?"

"Who else? The skull?"

Sherlock looked longingly at the skull and wished it could do the task of waking John. "Why me?"

"You obviously know a lot more about the doctor and I can't seem to wake him up without yelling at him. I don't want to have to be rude on my first night. So, it comes down to you, Sherlock."

"Fine. I do not yell, though." As Sherlock said this, he pulled his bow from the chair and made a horrid screeching noise across the violin strings. John woke with a start, and then fell back groggily into the chair.

"Good lord, Sherlock. How long have I been out?"

"Around one hour. We decided you would be better off in your own bed."

"I'm glad you decided that, my neck already feels terrible."

"Up you go doctor." Sherlock beckoned him to the stairs after pulling John out of the chair.

"Sherlock, 'm so tired," John said sluggishly.

Sherlock tilted his head thoughtfully before asking, "Do you need me to carry you?"

"I don't think you could manage. It has been awhile since I was on the army regiment and a little too much tea."

"Is that a challenge, Doctor Watson?"

"Don't you even try. I can do it, just gotta get my eyes opened long enough to get up the stairs."

A low chuckle escaped from the detective. "Go on John, I don't need you falling asleep on the floor. I may trip over you."

"So thoughtful of you," and with that the doctor trudged up the stairs with a few snickers.

Amelie watched all of this with a knowing eye. Best friends, obviously, and Sherlock happens to have a prominent crush on his short friend. Sentiment and relationships were an area in Amelie's life that were severely left untouched, but she can see what love looks like. All the small teases between the two, bickering over milk, the way John looks at Sherlock as he orchestrates a song on his violin and the way Sherlock looks at him when John can't see. The signs are all there. There is no need for a physical relationship here. The emotional one is definitely strong enough. _Sweet, I suppose. _

"Goodnight Doctor Watson," Amelie called upstairs. She heard a muffled response of some kind and decided that was good enough for her to go to sleep to. The flat turned dark as she switched off the lamp and noticed a figure standing beside the window in a dressing gown with a violin. _I thought he went to bed. _"Sherlock?"

The figure turned around and asked, "Amelie?"

"Good night."

The detective stayed silent and turned to go his room. Amelie took it as a good night in itself and went to lie down on the couch. That is why she became surprised at seeing a thin ray of light come from the opening door of the detectives' bedroom. "Good night to you, as well, Amelie." Then, the door closed with a click and the flat plunged into silence. The silence wasn't as lonely as it has been for years, though. Underneath it there was soft snoring from upstairs, a sound of a television downstairs and a faint note every so often that comes from the plucking of a violin. _I'm really glad that I had a bomb related object in my bag. Mrs. Hudson was right. People do need to be taken care of._

* * *

_Sometime early in the morning a certain detective slipped out of his bedroom and into the living room as he hears a cry. With him, he towed a violin and sat down across from a restless, yet sleeping girl. Quietly he began to play a piece that he had just heard that day. He adds a few notes and extra chords here and there, but the piece remains almost original. The girl stirs from her sleep and mumbles, "That sounds nice." The detective thinks of stopping, but just continues to play the piece. The girl falls back into a deep and calm slumber and the detective finishes the music as he is sure he did his job. Silently, he slips back into his bedroom and sits down on his bed. Packing away the violin with a loving touch and placing it underneath his bed the detective falls into the comfort of his pillows. Why he helped the girl out, he will never know, but inside he feels like he did the right thing. That feeling stayed with him all the way to the moment he closed his eyes and continued on into his dreams. _


	2. Day One

The smell of something incredibly aromatic woke Amelie from her deep slumber. _Eggs and... _"John! What are you cooking?"

"Oh! Good morning Amelie! Eggs, toast, coffee or orange juice, and bacon are on the menu this morning. I tried to get some waffles together, but it seems that Sherlock has put the waffle iron to other experimental uses."

"Do not touch my skin samples, John," came yelled from the bedroom of the one and only consulting detective.

"That's why we aren't having waffles, Sherlock," John parried back.

The door of Sherlock's bedroom swung open and the detective stood dramatically in the doorway. At least, as dramatic as one can get in a robe, pajamas, and bare feet. "Where did you get the bacon," Sherlock inquired.

"I went to the shop ," was all John said.

Amelie jumped into the conversation and asked," When did you go to the shop?"

"About two hours ago. Before you both ask why I went so early, I am going to let you know it is eleven in the morning now, so it was only nine when I left."

Both Amelie and Sherlock cried, "What", in unison.

"I decided to let the bacon wake you up than me trying. You both seemed like you needed the sleep anyways"

Sherlock stood for a moment longer in his doorway processing the information, then went to fling himself into his chair. Amelie began to laugh hysterically, but caught herself as tears formed in her eyes. "How did I end up here?"

"You were being framed for acts of terrorism at the airport, when John and I came to your rescue whilst interrupting our own plans, brought you to this flat, and you slept on my couch."

"I wasn't asking you, Sherlock. Even you should have been able to see the rhetorical form of my question."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at Amelie and began to open his mouth in retort when John interrupted it. "You two are not going to have a battle of wits this morning. Instead, you both will be quiet and eat your food."

"Is that the same food that smells like it's burning, doctor?"

John's eyes widened in shock and whipped around to save the breakfast he attempted to make.

"John, don't bother. It has been past saving since I sat in my chair. I'm not hungry anyways."

"Shut up, Sherlock."

"Doctor, I'm not hungry either."

A loud sigh was heard from the kitchen and the sound of a trash bag crinkling accompanied it. John came out of the kitchen and sat in his chair with his head in his hands. "Well, I can't make Sherlock eat, but you, Amelie, are not going to get out of it."

"John, this is ridiculous."

"No, no it's not. There are Lucky Charms in the cupboard nearest the fridge and I bought some milk when I was out as well. Also, the orange juice isn't burned so have a glass of that, too."

"Doctor..." Amelie pinned him down with a glare unmatched by even Sherlock Holmes, but the soldier only pointed at the kitchen and opened up the daily newspaper. "That is completely unfair."

"No it isn't. Go and make yourself a bowl."

"Sherlock! Help me out here."

The detective looked over at Amelie, and then turned to meet John's eyes head on. Another silent conversation passed between them and Sherlock turned his head to Amelie after it appeared they finished.

"Well?"

Sherlock simply shrugged, looked to the kitchen, back at Amelie, and settled further into his chair. The sight would have been comical if Amelie hadn't been so frustrated. _Fine. Thank you for the help Sherlock. I will remember this when you come to me for help from Doctor Watson. _ "I am letting you win, John."

"You'll thank me later," was John's only reply along with the sound of a page turning.

Amelie went out into the kitchen and navigated her way around to the cupboard John said contained the mysterious food named Lucky Charms. The box is colored red and had a rainbow with a creepy leprechaun on it. _Fantastic advertising. Here children, eat this cereal while a fictional character stares gaily at you. Just wonderful. _Amelie shook her head at the ridiculousness of the breakfast she was about to eat and laid her hand on the refrigerator handle. _Finally, I get to see what this machine holds inside. _Delicately, she began to open the door when a loud crash from the living room interrupted her process. _What in the world was that? _Amelie walked out to the living room using the cereal box as a shield. What she saw was absolutely unexpected and expected at the same time. John had Sherlock in a stranglehold and Sherlock was flailing about on his overturned chair.

"Take it back, Sherlock!"

"Ne-ver."

"You do not get to call me a housewife just because I got the milk, which you should have gotten."

The rest of the conversation became static in Amelie's mind as she turned to go complete her breakfast. Instead of taking her time in opening the fridge, Amelie rushed so that she couldn't be interrupted again. What she saw inside was a surprise. _No body parts? No molds? Nothing, but regular food? Oh, Doctor Watson, you have been much too kind. Much too kind, indeed. _Grabbing the milk and finding the bowls and silverware, Amelie set about making her sugary meal. The decision to eat at the table was quickly tossed out as every square inch of it is covered in chemicals, body parts, and experiments of every variation. A small nook in the kitchen had enough room for Amelie to set her bowl down and eat without disruption. At least, very little disruption as the doctor and detective were still at it in the living room. The cereal was surprisingly okay and the marshmallow mutations tasted better after a long soak in milk. Amelie finished it and quietly rinsed her bowl. Thoughts were howling in her brain about what was to come once she walked back into the living room, but a final thought made its place at the forefront of her mind. _Day one of getting my life back together starts now._


	3. Westwood

**Deciding to take the rating up one. Violence is going to ensue and I just want to be on the safe side. I hope you all are enjoying this. First story I have ever committed to. Also, thank you for the reviews! I appreciate each one. **

**-HS**

* * *

Amelie marched into the living room with her mind-set on exactly what she wanted to know. _What are we going to do? When will this all be over? Why did Moriarty choose me as a victim? _All of these questions Amelie planned on asking as soon as she entered the room, but the first question that came out of her mouth was not any of the ones she thought of, but instead, "Where are you guys?" The flat only answered with silence. The detective was gone, as well as his doctor, and Amelie was left alone. _Think, Amelie, just think. Coats are gone, robe is left haphazardly on chair, drawer of the desk is open, something taken from inside. None of that matters. They are gone. _"Gone."

Amelie couldn't process her thoughts that were flying through her mind. The only thing that mattered was that she was alone and she doesn't know where anyone is. Even downstairs sounds quiet. _Why would they leave? Moriarty? A case? An emergency? Why didn't I hear them? Why must I always be so wrapped up in my world? Why, why- _"Why?!"

Amelie went to sit on the couch to calm her mind down. _There is no use panicking when they are most likely fine. You are fine and they are fine. You are fine. _Clapping her hands together after making her resolve, Amelie stood up and looked around the flat for anything that could give her a clue about where Sherlock and John went. _They would leave something. Obviously they would. _As Amelie thought this she noticed a paper resting on top of John's laptop. She tried to casually walk over to it, but instead she ran over, tripping twice and looking like a mess. Grabbing the paper with panicked hands, Amelie read what was on it.

**Amelie,**

**Sherlock's homeless network got a lead today on Moriarty and we went to scope it out. We won't be gone too long and if you have any emergency you can use Mrs. Hudson's phone downstairs. **

**John**

Amelie's heart rate went down considerably after reading the note over five times. _Just a lead. They are fine. Why have you become so paranoid? Of course they would be fine. They haven't had you in their life for little more than a day. Nothing out of the ordinary would happen just because you are here. Would it? _Amelie shook her head thoroughly and smoothed her hand over the note one last time. As she did this, Amelie noticed indentations on the paper._ Indents of a place that John must have written over this paper. Westwood Recreation Ground, Ill-_ The rest of the message cuts off, but it's enough for Amelie to work with.

Quickly opening John's laptop and bypassing his password (jamandjumpers) Amelie searched Westwood Recreation Ground. It is in Illford and is about an hour away. _All that's there are parks. What could be linked to Moriarty there? Maybe it's in the name. No, that's just silly. _Amelie continued to ponder about the lead for about another minute before she decided to take action. _I will follow them. Well, what if they don't want me to follow? Maybe they will need my help. Maybe they don't. _"I don't know!"

Amelie collapsed into Sherlock's chair and laid her head heavy in her hands. She felt abandoned not only by John and Sherlock, but her own mind as well. Thoughts wouldn't finish and Amelie couldn't figure out what she needed to do. Not knowing and understanding anything drove her mad, so Amelie came to a simple conclusion. _I will just go to see if they would like any help and if they don't, then I will just head back here. Easy as pie. _

Once she made her resolution, Amelie went to go get dressed. Donning a Flogging Molly t-shirt, jeans, black laced boots and her favorite sweatshirt, Amelie stepped out of the bathroom feeling ready for anything. Grabbing her wallet and the knife in the mantelpiece she headed out of the flat and rushed outside. Her astute attitude became dampened by the sudden bite of the crisp air and falling snow. "Maybe a jacket and scarf might be needed."

* * *

As far as Amelie had calculated, she was a half hour behind the detective and doctor when the cab let her off at the grounds. She tossed the fare at the cabby and turned to look at the abandoned park. Once it could have flourished, but here in the middle of winter it becomes inhabited only by lonesome spirits. Swings whine in the wind as they get moved about and the jungle gym had a heavy layer of ice and snow. A small waterway that is frozen over surrounds the side of the park and through all of her examining, Amelie didn't see one soul. _Could they have left? If they did, where did they go?_

"Doctor? Doctor Watson," Amelie called out. A heavy silence gave her reply. Walking further into the park she called out for Sherlock and John repeatedly. There still wasn't any answer and Amelie decided that they must have left. The snow was falling harder and the wind picked up. The cold snuck in all around Amelie and to fight off the cold she lifted her collar and tucked her arms into her body. She had almost finished walking along the entire expanse of the park when she saw something red poking out of the snow. Carefully she leaned over and picked the object up. The item ended up being an apple that was so intensely red its color could only be described as blood.

Turning the fruit around, inspecting it for anything odd Amelie saw the letters I. O. U. knifed and bitten into it. "I. O. U. What?" She asked the air. What she wasn't expecting was the air to reply.

"A fall, dear Amelie. I owe you a fall. Not you, you, of course, but someone does need it and I know who."

Startled, Amelie dropped the apple and whipped around to meet the sing-song voice. All she could make out was a silhouette as the snow plummeted from the sky.

"Oh, no, no, no, Amelie. That won't do at all. You'll bruise the fruit by dropping it. Crack its skull open and let its insides spread all around you. Such a mess. Thank god the ground is so soft, though. Oh snow, such a precious thing. Don't you think?"

"I prefer the heat."

"Heat, heat, heat. Always so hot. The only things that are nice when they are hot are tea and bomb sites, but since those aren't around the snow is so much more wonderful."

"Who are you?"

The figure walked closer to Amelie and shook its head. "Please don't be so disappointing Amelie. You know who I am. You should even remember me!" As the man said this he leapt in front of Amelie and put his face inches from hers. Devious eyes greeted her and a smile that could kill made her fall back into the snow and start to crawl away.

"Moriarty."

"Oh, you used to call me Uncle Jim. Suppose you are too old for that now, though."

_Moriarty, Moriarty, Moriarty. He is right here and I am all alone, I should have stayed at the flat. Should have stayed- _

"I have watched you Amelie. I put that bomb in your bag just to say hi. Then, _Sherlock_ and his _doctor_ were suddenly there and ruined it all. It could have been so perfect! I would rescue you from the mean old security guards and we could just be like family! Family! Do you remember family? Your parents? Such a long time ago now."

Slowly standing up, Amelie answered quietly, "You killed them, didn't you?"

"Such a petty thing, killing. I really liked your parents. They were unbelievable florists, but that's opposite the point. So unbelievable that they were believable. You know they weren't really florists? No, no, no, they worked for _me_."

"Did. You. Kill. Them."

Moriarty grabbed Amelie and fisted his hands into her coat. Bringing her face closer to his, he yelled, "It was their fault! If they didn't care so much for you and trying to do the right thing and wanting to give you a life without fear they wouldn't be dead! You all could have been so happy!" Moriarty let go of Amelie and pushed her backwards. She stumbled back so far she almost fell into the icy water in the channel. As she fell she felt something jab into her side. _The knife. I didn't even know why I took it. Glad I did now. _Quietly, she took out of her pocket the weapon and held it behind her back.

"No you don't Amelie. Knives aren't allowed here. Too dangerous for the little children. So sharp, someone might get hurt!"

Sighing, Amelie tossed the knife to Moriarty's feet. "What do you want?"

"What do I want? What do I want?!" Amelie flinched at his voice and Moriarty rushed forward and kneeled down to meet her at eye level. "I want so many things, pet. Most importantly, I want to forever be known as the only one who can erase all the geniuses from this world. All starting with a fall, but now I think it may just start with a shove." Moriarty then grabbed Amelie and held her up at the edge of the bank. "So disappointing, Amelie. You really are. Thought you may have put up a fight at least, but now you will just serve another purpose. The detective likes killers. Maybe you can get him to come around. Say hello to him in the morgue would you?" With that, James Moriarty threw Amelie into the frozen water below. Whistling was the last thing Amelie Emmerton heard before cracking head first through the ice and into a dark abyss.

* * *

_A black car pulls away from the park just as a cab pulls in. A detective and doctor climb out, battling against the snow._

_"Sherlock! Hurry up and find your magnifying glass. It is a blizzard out here!"_

_"It is over by the swings; just hold your jumper, John."_

_"Hold my- Don't make me leave without you!"_

_"Do shut up John, I am trying to find it. I know it's- John?"_

_"What is it Sherlock?"_

_The detective tosses a crimson apple at the doctor with the letter carved into it. _

_"Moriarty was here, John. Just after us and so was someone- John, did you leave our knife here?"_

_"No, why would I even bring it? It is still at the flat."_

_"No, John, it isn't, it's right here."_

_"The only one who was at the flat was Amelie, so that means-"_

_The detective looks at the doctor with scared eyes. Eyes that are usually so devoid of emotion fill with an oncoming premonition of grief. They whip to look at the waterway. "There was a struggle, John. It ended right here."_

_Both doctor and detective peer over the edge and see a hole in the ice. Before the doctor could utter a word, the detective stripped off his coat and dived into the chasm. _

_"Sherlock!" The doctor yells, but no use comes of it. He is left standing in the snowstorm praying to see the dark mop of hair just once more. It's answered quickly as the detective and girl's head break the surface of the water._

_"Joh-n", the detective stutters out. Just that one word puts the doctor into action. His instinct for saving the injured kicks in and everything else fades away. Lifting both the detective and girl out of the water, the doctor goes to work. He sees the life fading away from the girl. He sees the detective making an easy recovery. The doctor takes the priority case and rubs bare hands together. _

_"Sherlock, get the cabby to see if he has any blankets. Call the emergency services and get them here right away."_

_The detective responds easily and the doctor turns to the girl. Breathing has stopped. Resuscitation needed. Calmly and efficiently the doctor works to put life back into the girl's body. Breathing normalizes after water becomes expelled. Secondary drowning still possible, but life is flooding into the girl instead of out. The doctor leans back and takes the blanket from the detective and wraps it around the unconscious girl. He picks her up and brings her to the cab._

_"John, is she alright?"_

_"Right now, she is. I don't know what happened to her, though."_

_"Moriarty happened."_

_The doctor lays the girl down in the heat of the car and the cabby opens his mouth in protest. A glare from both the detective and doctor keeps him silent. The detective begins to violently shudder and the doctor takes his jacket off to wrap it around the lanky man. Together they stand silently in the cold, listening to the approaching sirens._


	4. All Forgotten

_Drowning in a black sea, floating endlessly downwards into a world unknown. Flashes of red and letters of IOU appear every so often. Cackles and whistling roar around the girl's ears. So loud, so frightening, and all she can do is crawl into a ball. "Please leave me alone, just leave me alone, please." The maniacal laughter grows louder and thunders like an oncoming storm. "Amelie. Oh, Amelie," it sings to her. "Please!" "Amelie!"_

* * *

"Amelie! Wake up Amelie!"

The teenager continues to fold further into herself on the hospital bed crying out a, "Please", every so often. John shakes her once more and her eyes snap open. Gray green orbs fill with tears and her arms shoot out around the doctor's neck.

"It's okay, shhh, everything is okay." John quietly says. Amelie sobs without relent for more than minute then began to quiet down as her senses cleared. Letting go of John and wiping her eyes, she falls back into the bed with a sigh.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to lose myself there. I just-"

John interrupts her by saying, "Do not apologize for being upset, Amelie. I was in the war, I understand the nightmares."

"It was the voice, John. The voice wouldn't stop." Amelie looks away from the gaze of the doctor in shame of being so vulnerable. She sits straight up in bed as soon as she broke eye contact, though, and went to stare with wide eyes back at John. "Where am I?"

"You're at the hospital. You fell into the water, remember?"

Amelie brought her knees up to her chest and shook her head to say no. _Apples and the cold; that's all I remember. Apples and the cold._

"You must have hit your head when you went through the ice. The doctor's said that you may suffer temporary amnesia, but that everything should come back eventually. Speaking of doctors, we should get yours in here."

"You are my doctor, John."

He only chuckled and hit the button to beckon the nurses and doctor in. While they were waiting Amelie had a slight nudge at her brain. _What am I missing? Who is missing? Wait, where is Sherlock? _"John?"

"Yes Amelie?"

"Where is Sherlock?"

"He was just here, went to go grab some coffee only a few minutes before you woke up. Don't worry, he's alright."

"What happened to me, John?"

John's face grew very sullen and he was about to open his mouth when a nurse and Amelie's doctor came into the room. The nurse checked her vitals and took out the IV that Amelie didn't even realize was in her arm. She left quietly and the doctor came to stand at the foot of the hospital bed. Silently, he flipped through papers on his clipboard. Amelie could feel the nervousness billow up inside of her like a poisonous cloud. Her hands must have shaken because John calmly put one of his own over hers. "Everything is going to be fine Amelie. It's just a review on how you are doing, alright?"

Amelie looked over at John and nodded a yes, but inside she felt like she was falling apart. _I don't know what happened to me. I have no recollection of this day. I don't even know if it is still the same day! _"Uh, Mister Doctor, is it still Tuesday?"

The man glanced up from his papers and said, "Amelie, it is Thursday. You were unconscious for two days, but the fact that you have woken up so soon is amazing. From the scans, you took a heavy blow to your head, drowned, had resuscitation, and suffered from the early stages of hypothermia."

Amelie felt tears prick at her eyes again. _Resuscitated? I died and I can't even remember how or why? _Amelie wanted to curl into a ball and never speak again. Her mind was betraying her and that is all she has ever truly relied on since the death of her parents. Amelie's head began to throb painfully and she grasped at her hair to try to pull the ache out. All the while the doctor was still relaying information to her and his voice came back into her head.

"-looks alright and you will be able to go home as soon as you feel ready. Your guardian is well equipped to take care of you and don't worry about the memory. That should return in a day or two." The doctor then turned towards John and said, "If she has any problems whatsoever just bring her in and we will do a checkup. Here is a prescription for the medicine to help with the after effects of a concussion. Also, I highly recommend a therapist. Going through that trauma will need some professional help."

Amelie snapped her eyes open and looked pleadingly at John. _Please, I don't want therapy, John. I just want to go home, please I just want to go home._

John seemed to get the idea as he saw Amelie staring him down. He swallowed and turned back to the doctor. "Thank you, we will think about it, won't we Amelie?"

Amelie couldn't make her voice work to say yes so instead, she nodded.

"Well, I think I have done my job! Like I said, you can go home when you would like, just sign the paperwork on your way out," then, more seriously, the doctor added, "and if anything is wrong, anything at all, make sure to say something, okay Amelie?"

"Okay." _Finally, I got my mouth to work._

"Alright! Good day to you Miss Emmerton and to you Doctor Watson." The doctor then exited the room. Just as he left, Sherlock entered the room with two coffees. _He looks horrendous. Black circling his eyes and his entire physique just looked completely wore out. What happened to him?_

"You're awake. That's good. It was getting a bit boring just watching you breathe."

"Sherlock-", John began to scold, but Amelie held up her hand to stop him.

"It was a bit boring not being awake for me, as well." They both smiled at that and inside the detectives mind he thought, _I am quite happy to know you are okay, _and inside Amelie's she said, _Thank you._

Sherlock sat down in one of the plastic chairs after handing John his coffee and everyone was quiet for a while. Amelie was the first to speak after running through a million thoughts. Wringing her hands nervously she asked, "Can I have a pen and paper?"

Both John and Sherlock looked at her curiously before John produced a pad and pen from the inside of his jacket. "Why do you need it?"

Amelie looked up from her hands and swallowed hard. "I can't, I can't ask out loud or I might-" She stopped as her voice began to crack. _I am so afraid. I don't even remember what I'm supposed to be afraid of, but I am so terrified. _"Could I just have them, please?"

"Of course." John hurriedly put the items into Amelie's hands and stepped back. He watched over her carefully and noticed how badly her hands were shaking. John turned his head towards Sherlock and they were both thinking the same thing, _Moriarty is not going to get away with this. _

After a couple of minutes of Amelie writing slowly and carefully on the paper, she produced the note to Sherlock and John. Sherlock was the one to take it and as soon as it left her hands, Amelie rolled over on her side and refused to let the two men see the tears come pouring out of her eyes. John reached out to comfort her, but Sherlock grabbed his arm to stop him. Pointing at the paper, he said, "Read the first one, John."

**1) This is really silly I know, but I cannot speak now. Just read this all through and then talk to me. I want to be alone. **

John looked up into the detective's eyes and back at the girl lying alone on her hospital bed. Shaking his head and going against everything his mind was telling him, he left the room with Sherlock following closely behind.

"This isn't right, Sherlock. We should be in there."

"We can be in there as soon as we figure out the answers to the questions Amelie has written for us. Also, don't bother with your morality, John. Alone is what she wants. That isn't your fault."

"Isn't it, though? I should have gotten her from the kitchen, I should have made sure that she would be okay being alone, and I should have done something!"

Sherlock grabbed John and pulled him into an embrace. "John, don't be ridiculous. Nothing that you could do differently would change what happened to Amelie. Moriarty wanted her and he was going to get her one way or another. Feeling bad about it won't help anyone."

John pushed away from the detective. "You're being awfully co-"John stopped as he looked into Sherlock's eyes. He was expecting to see the fatigue, but the emotion that laid in them was entirely shocking.

"I am going about this realistically, John, not cold. I had to drag her out of the water and then stand by doing nothing while you gave her life again. Moriarty got to her, when I thought I could protect her, but she's going to be okay. She survived and the only thing we can do is make sure she will stay alive."

John nodded in understanding. "What were her questions?"

"They are all quite straightforward and a bit unnerving. I don't think she remembers much of anything, John." Sherlock handed her note over and John read it over a few times.

**2) Why am I here?**

**3) What happened to me?**

**4) Where was I?**

**5) Who did this to me?**

**6) (to John) How are you labeled as my guardian?**

Rubbing his hand over his face, John handed the note back to Sherlock. "Sherlock, how are we supposed to answer these? We weren't there; we don't know what Moriarty said or did."

"John, have you forgotten my occupation? Rewriting crimes is my job. I think this one is easy is enough. She is here in the hospital because she got thrown into an icy waterway, hit her head, drowned, died, came back to life and had the stages of hypothermia. That answers question number three about halfway. I can assume she and Moriarty had a lengthy discussion and struggle before she landed in the water. Obviously, he is paying her special attention and became disappointed with what he saw. Where she was is incredibly easy. Westwood Recreation Grounds and is hour away from the flat. James Moriarty did this to her and the last one; we can blame Mycroft for that. Her foster family gave her up easily enough. You are now a guardian of a teenager, how do you feel?"

"You make it sound so easy. You even answered my question! I feel no different from when we took her home from the airport, than I do now, so I suppose I am alright. I guess we can go and give her answers now."

* * *

**I know the ending is not that wonderful and this chapter is iffy, but trust me when I say what is coming is really good. Again, thank you for everything. **

**-HS**


	5. Wanted

_I wonder if my mind is just floating away. Piece by piece it is leaving me. I don't want it to go; I want it to stay here. I want it to tell me the right things again and I want it to make sure I am okay. Mind, what happened to me? Why won't you let me remember? I want to remember. Please, just come back. _

On the outside, Amelie was pressing against her head; as if she could push the memories back in. Twisted into a ball, she looked so incredibly small. On the inside, though, she was blank. Her mind was overrun with doubt and fear, so Amelie forced herself into an empty cavern of her mind. A place where no thoughts and words would come to terrorize her. Just a place to stay to calm herself down and be safe from the voice that wouldn't stop.

* * *

This was the Amelie that John and Sherlock walked back in to. Not the cocky, intelligent, and outrageous teenager she was when they first met her, but a lost and scared little girl.

"What did he do to her, Sherlock?"

"He took away the one thing she had left in the world, her life. He took that and her mind and turned her into this."

"It isn't right."

"Is it ever?"

John walked slowly to the side of Amelie's bed and stood with a military stance. John only uses it when he expresses his authority, but that authority has to sometimes be used against him to hold back emotions that were raging inside. Sherlock didn't have to have his brilliant mind to see that his friend was struggling to keep his cool. Silently, he walked up behind John and rested a hand on his shoulder. With a quick nod as a thank you, John stepped forward and gently touched Amelie's hand to let her know answers were soon to be given.

* * *

_Open your eyes Amelie. There is nothing you will be afraid of. Come on. Just open your eyes. John and Sherlock are helping; they aren't going to hurt me. No, they won't ever hurt me. _The resolve in her head gave Amelie the first step to being okay. The memories would return eventually and she was alive. With that being felt, even in her heart, Amelie released her head from the lock of her hands and turned to look at the two men standing grimly at her bedside.

John wasn't expecting any reaction from Amelie, so he felt immediate relief when she turned to acknowledge Sherlock and him. "Hey, there," was the all he could say at that moment. John wasn't gone from the room for more than ten minutes, but a new greeting felt like the best remedy for the tension.

A smile edged its way on Amelie's face. _Whatever happened to me will not ruin me. I am stronger than this, and I have a doctor and detective to help me on my way. A doctor who can break through tension with a simple, "Hey there", and a detective who doesn't have to speak to let me know he is going to take care of me. _"I am going to be okay," Amelie spoke out loud.

A confused, but happy look came on John's face when she said that and Sherlock simply looked tired, but inside he was joyous to know that this girl in front of him wasn't going to break and have to be dealt with fragile hands.

"Amelie, I would assume you would like the answers to the questions you presented us with?"

Without hesitation Amelie replied with a, "Yes, Sherlock." _I want to know. I need to know. _"I really would."

Sherlock took a deep breath as if he were going into a long explanation, but instead of saying anything, he simply let it back out. Then, he launched into answering Amelie's question with a dark look coming into his eyes. "Why? You died and needed medical attention. What? You were attacked and drowned. John brought life back into you, but you didn't come back into consciousness till today. Where? Westwood Recreation Grounds. Who? James Moriarty."

_I was so afraid to ask these? The answers are simple, straight forward and I should have been able to figure these out on my own. There is something I am still missing. _"Is that all?"

John spoke up after tearing an accusing look from Sherlock. Amelie knew John felt that Sherlock should have gone softer, but the cold hard facts helped Amelie get her mind right again. "Well, I'm your temporary guardian now. The hospital wouldn't allow us access to you and your foster family in America refused to help. They said that only you would manage to die on a vacation that should have already been over. So, Mycroft stepped in, did some fancy paperwork, and here I am as a fill in till a family opens up for you in America."

Tears fill Amelie's eyes for the umpteenth time that day. _Now I remember why I couldn't ask. Another family doesn't want me. I'm thrown away every time all because of what? I know I could be more social and nicer and not throw my deductions out in the air for everyone to hear, but that's what I am. I wish I could stop being so horrible at being human. I wish someone would want me. Even John will tire of me. He already has to deal with Sherlock, I am just another burden. I am a burden to the world. Moriarty was right to try to get rid of me._

* * *

Sherlock had stepped back to let John answer his own question. The only reason he did so was because cold hard facts were what Amelie needed for her first questions, but she needed a warm John to tell her she was now unwanted. Sherlock couldn't find it in him to give the right comfort to her. The first night he had a violin to hide behind to calm her down, but here in a white-walled hospital room, Sherlock was vulnerable and left undefended from his own emotions that threatened to show.

He could read every single thought that played out in Amelie's mind. He could see the anguish that fell with each tear and he could feel the pain that had blossomed in her chest. For years, Sherlock was alone. Yes, he had a family to grow up with that cared and loved for him, but when he reached adulthood, Sherlock separated himself from everything. He turned to drugs and let his mind rot. He put himself in solitary conditions and when he tried to get out of his lonesome pit, Sherlock faced walls that were impossible to climb.

He didn't find a home until a certain invalided army doctor from Afghanistan walked, or more so, limped into his life. John was a broken man as was Sherlock and together they fixed each other. Sherlock's walls came down and John had his own positive ones rebuilt. Sherlock gave John what he needed and John gave Sherlock what he needed.

Standing away from the teenager who was so much like, but unlike himself, Sherlock watched the scene play out. Amelie gets told she isn't wanted and is simply passed off to John without a second thought. John takes a military stance once again as Amelie's eyes grow bright with tears. A sob that couldn't be held back wrenches its way out of Amelie's lungs and her entire composure fails to stay calm. John loses the rigid back and moves over to Amelie to give her a strong shoulder to cry on. Quietly, the doctor reassures her that things are all okay. That isn't what Amelie needs to hear. For once, Sherlock knows what needs to be said. John's shoulder is strong enough to cry on, but it isn't the glue to piece Amelie's emotions back together. This time, instead of Sherlock and John fixing each other, it will be Sherlock and John fixing Amelie, together. John will be the strongman and Sherlock will be the glue.

With full confidence in what he was going to say, Sherlock walked over next to Amelie and bent down to whisper in her ear. "You are wanted here, Amelie." Slowly, he straightened his back and looked at the shocked eyes of a lonely teenager. John looked between the both of them and just settled for staring slack-jawed at Sherlock. Amelie had ceased crying immediately and instead started to laugh. The laughing wasn't forced or sarcastic, but instead completely genuine.

John was completely at a loss and Amelie grew happier by the moment. Eventually, John just joined in to her laughter because he didn't have a clue about what was going on. Sherlock knew why she was laughing, though. Every peal rang out a single sentence of its own. _I am wanted. I am wanted. I am wanted. _It was a victorious laughter that told her defeat to back off. Sherlock felt a smile spread across his features and deep chuckles came from within his chest. All three got caught in an infectious throng of laughter that only died because they couldn't survive the cramps any longer.

* * *

_I am wanted. I am wanted. I am wanted. _"Sherlock? John?" The two men looked over at Amelie and everyone could see in each other's eyes that they were on the same page. "Let's go home."

* * *

**I think a happy ending was long overdue. I feel like a broken record, but again, thank you all so much for the support and reviews. **

**-HS**


	6. Pills and Gunpowder

Walking back into 221B was like a breath of fresh air to Amelie. Mrs. Hudson had enveloped her in a grandmotherly hug and shoved four different batches of cookies into her arms on her way in. The spray painted smile seemed to have an even wider grin when she stepped into the flat and everything seemed like it was going to finally be alright. Putting the load of cookies down and sliding her coat off her shoulders with a gentle touch, Amelie took to looking around the room. The first day she walked in to 221B Amelie had no idea that it would be a place where she would want to stay. Now, she sees it as a sanctuary from all the pain and loneliness she has faced even before coming to England. _It's a home. Not mine to claim just yet, but it is a home. _

Slowly, she sank into the comfort of the couch and let her bones adjust. Whatever drugs they had given her for any pain was quickly wearing off and Amelie could feel her head drumming a song within her skull. _My body aches and my head hurts, nope, this is not good. Not good at all._ "John?"

The doctor in question had stood timidly in the doorway, allowing Amelie to get settled before doing anything that could disturb her. Sherlock was standing behind him impatiently and the tapping of his foot rang painfully in Amelie's ears. "What do you need, Amelie?"

Feeling like a small child, Amelie pointed to her head and said, "It hurts, John. Everything hurts."

John gave up on giving Amelie room to settle down and instead fell into his doctor mode. Pulling a small flashlight from his pocket he shined it into Amelie's eyes, checked her pulse, and finally gave her a gentle pat on the head. Calling over his shoulder to Sherlock, John said, "Bring her meds and a glass of water over here, please?"

_Medication. I really hate it all. Makes my world go much too fuzzy for my liking. Dying should just be easier; this whole after-pain is really quite exasperating. _

Sherlock handed the medication and water over with disdain and went to work on an experiment involving stomach lining and gunpowder. _His stomach smells a bit rancid. Must have left it out of the fridge. _

"-two of these every six hours until the bottle is empty."

Turning her head to look at John, Amelie asked, "What?"

John chuckled and repeated, "These are going to take care of the aches and pains. Take two every six hours until they are gone." As he said that he placed two solid white pills in Amelie's hand along with the water and stood up.

_Delicious. _"Bon appetite," Amelie said as she tipped her head back to swallow the pills. "When can I expect these little guys to start to work their magic?"

"About a half hour."

_Much too long. I need something to occupy my brain. Get it off from thinking about hurting. _"Sherlock?"

A groan was heard from the kitchen and a curly head popped out from the doorway. "What is it, Amelie?"

"I am bored."

"I don't think John would appreciate it if I were to take you on a sprinting session after criminals, so just do something, teenage like. Make a sweater, read the dictionary, don't bother me, etcetera, etcetera."

John had gone to sit down in his chair and couldn't stop his head from shaking. "That isn't what teenagers do."

"I personally don't care what teenagers do, John. Do you hear that? It is my experiment beckoning me." Sherlock turned around and went to sit in front of his microscope, John took a deep breath and picked up his laptop to stop himself from getting in a row with Sherlock, and Amelie looked at both of them with a dazed expression. _I still don't understand these two. _

Amelie stood up from the couch and went in to the kitchen to sit next to Sherlock. Just giving her the barest of glances, Sherlock asked, "What do you want?"

Picking up a scalpel and twirling it in her fingers, Amelie said, "I want to help."

Leaning his head against his microscope for a moment, Sherlock sat up and turned to Amelie. Plucking the revolving blade from Amelie's fingers and setting it down, he looked turned his best glare on her. "What could you possibly help me with?"

Amelie smirked and said, "You are using stomach lining to test the residue of gun powder left after a gunshot wound. I dissected my neighbor's cat back in America after it was seemingly shot in a _hunting_ accident. I believe that the father killed it in cold blood because everyone knew he hated the thing, but after they caught me with the open carcass of their pet, none of them wanted to hear that their beloved bald feline had been brutally murdered. So, I understand a thing or two about gunpowder residue left on corpses. Also, I was highest in my class for Biology. Plus-"

Sherlock stopped her by throwing up his hands and saying, "Alright! You can help." Shoving a stomach sample with a small bowl of gun powder in Amelie's hands, Sherlock shooed her off to the other side of the table. "Record the staining patterns after ten minutes."

"Thanks." _And the headache goes away. If this is what Sherlock does for a living every day, I may never leave this kitchen._

* * *

They proceeded to work around the table in synch with each other. Amelie would give her results and Sherlock would hand her another task. If Sherlock couldn't reach a new slide, Amelie would get it for him. When Amelie couldn't get a proper result, Sherlock would insult her a little and then sit down next to her to figure out the dilemma. Hour after hour they worked away and time became irrelevant. Neither Amelie, nor Sherlock realized that take-away had casually been placed in front of them. They also failed to remember that they consumed it all.

Experiments on stomach lining were a part of the past as Sherlock started to work on acid reactions and took to explaining the elements involved to Amelie. He allowed her to look into his microscope and gave her the undertaking of writing notes on everything that Sherlock said was of importance.

The day turned into night and when John came into the kitchen to give Amelie another dose of medicine, he stopped to lean in the doorway thoughtfully. Amelie had her head down on the table, pillowed by folded arms, pen behind ear, and was softly snoring. Sherlock had stopped talking and was just observing her, probably storing away the new information on sleeping positions. Without looking away from Amelie, Sherlock said, "She wasn't nearly as annoying as I believed a teenager would be. Actually, she was quite helpful."

"She isn't like most teenagers, Sherlock. If anything, she is as much of an adult as you or I."

"I suppose you're right, John. Any other child her age would have broken knowing that they died, but she is passing it off like it was just a flesh wound. I wasn't expecting to... enjoy her presence here as much as I have."

John smiled and walked over to wake Amelie up. "I kind of like her, too." Just as he was about to put his hand on Amelie's shoulder to shake her awake, Sherlock grabbed his wrist.

"I- I've got it. I have to finish up this last thing and then I'll take care of her."

John said, "Alright," and placed Amelie's meds in Sherlock's free hand. "You know, we could get you on as a temporary guardian, as well."

Sherlock crinkled his nose and simply replied with, "Don't be ridiculous, John."

"I'm not the one who is still holding on to my wrist, Sherlock."

Looking appalled at his hand for being so devious, Sherlock snatched it away and went back to his microscope. John simply chuckled and turned to go upstairs. "Goodnight, Sherlock." He paused on the first step waiting for a reply.

Sherlock didn't even blink and John gave it up as a lost cause. With a sigh, he trudged up the stairs and Sherlock could hear the thump of him falling into bed. Taking it as a coast is clear sign; Sherlock averted his eyes from the microscope and went back to looking at Amelie. _A child, who is incredibly mature and intelligent and brilliant, just thrown away countless times. _Sherlock had read the file Mycroft gave him. Dead parents, dead grandparents, five different foster homes, sent to England on a vacation, but with a higher goal in mind. Get rid of Amelie._ No one had ever taken care of her or tried to understand her. So she comes to England, Moriarty pays her a visit, why? Because she was in the area? Maybe he just wanted to say hello. Then we bring her here and things seem like they will be easy. Moriarty doesn't appreciate her being here, though. Maybe he wanted her for himself. Oh, things are making so much sense- _Sherlock had his own line of thought interrupted as his phone buzzed on the tabletop. Tiredly, he picked up his phone and opened up the text.

**We've got an interesting one for you. Double homicide, triple if you count the dog. I'm pretty much stuck in the mud on this one. Need your help. **

**-G. Lestrade**

With a smile, Sherlock set his phone down and turned his eyes back to the dirty blonde bundle of hair sleeping soundly on his table. "Tomorrow, we are taking a field trip." He then got up, shook Amelie awake, put the pills and a glass of water into her hands, and sat down across from her. Groggily, Amelie swallowed down the pills and forced her eyes to open long enough to look at Sherlock.

"Gosh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep."

With a wave of his hand he said, "Oh no, it's fine. I assume that this would be tiresome to a girl your age."

Amelie looked shocked. "This was the least tiresome thing I have ever done. It's just that this," Amelie takes a moment to gesture her hand at her body, "was already tired."

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, but a yawn came out instead. Stunned, he muttered, "I suppose my transport needs rest as well."

Getting up from her seat, Amelie walked past Sherlock with a pat on his shoulder. "Even geniuses need sleep. Night, Sherlock."

Sherlock had tilted his chin up in stubborn defiance of needing sleep, but let it fall after Amelie walked past him. Watching her fall heavily on the couch, not bothering with pajamas, she settled into another deep slumber. _Amazing is the frailty of life. We cannot survive without the most annoying of things. Sleep, eating, drinking, all are so important. Dull. _Sherlock went into his bedroom after making sure Amelie was actually asleep and following in hers and John's footsteps, he fell with a characteristic grace into the luxury of his bed.


	7. Three Letters

**Just a little note here; the POV does change around a bit now, but if you all are having difficulties, I will make sure to label the POV with the character. Thank you all for continuing to read my story or even just giving it a passing glance. Each and every one of you matters to me and the thrill of writing this is almost overwhelming because I have people who actually like it. So, again, thank you. **

**-HS**

* * *

Amelie woke with a start. Feeling her heart race inside her chest and hearing a thousand drums pounding in her ears, she stumbled up off the couch to go grab her medication. Shaking out two of the little white capsules and clumsily making her way to the sink, Amelie downed her pills and slid down the front cupboards with her head in her hands. Feeling the perspiration on her face, Amelie reached up behind her head and grabbed the cloth that was in the basin to wipe it away. Only when she held the rag in front of her, did she notice her hands trembling. _What in the world was I dreaming? _

Sitting on the ground for a few minutes, contemplating over what could have caused her reaction, Amelie noticed she was the only one up. Checking the wall clock for the time, it said that it was five thirty in the morning. _Five thirty? I never sleep that often, but when I do, I at least make it to eight. I can't even go back to sleep now. What is a girl supposed to do at this time? _

Running her hands through her hair in wonder, Amelie stopped to take notice of how stringy it was. _When was the last time I showered? Oh, god, this is horrible. They must have cleaned you up at the hospital, so it's only a day. It's all fine. _Not believing what she was telling herself, Amelie made her way to the bathroom. Switching on the light to look at her reflection in the mirror, Amelie realized she hadn't seen herself for days. Pausing to take note of any differences, Amelie saw a slight bruise on the edge of her hairline. Time had taken the pain away from it, but didn't erase the shade of black just yet. Tenderly probing it, she saw it as the only evidence that something had actually happened to her four days ago. _That and the bags under my eyes. I have slept more this week than I have in my entire life! How can I still look so tired. _

Amelie shook her head with frustration and decided a shower was well deserved. Looking down at her clothes she noticed they were the same ones she came back to 221B in. _I slept in my clothes. This is getting beyond ridiculous. Time to get yourself together Amelie. I mean, you are a mess. _Grabbing a towel from beneath the sink, Amelie started up the water and waited for it to get warm. Keeping her hand in for testing she noticed the products inside. _Men's Shampoo and Conditioner. I've had worse, I suppose._

Leaving the bathroom to get her razor and a change of clothes, Amelie came back into the now steamy room and hardly glanced at the mirror before shedding her attire. Stopping mid-strip, Amelie slowly stood straight up and turned to look at the fog covered mirror. What laid on it were three simple letters.

**I. O. U.**

"I owe you, what?" Amelie asked aloud. What she wasn't expecting were the memories that replied.

Doubling over, pressing her hands to her head, Amelie tried to slow down the flood of memories that raged through her mind. _A blanket of snow covering an empty park. An apple left in a sea of white. I owe you a fall. A devilish face coming from the darkness. Came just to say hi. Disappointment. The crack of ice and whistling. _Everything came back at once and left Amelie on the ground shaking as the steam blanketed her in a damp shroud.

Beginning to feel the first tiny droplets of tears in her eyes, Amelie slammed her fist into the ground. _No. I am going to be fine. Get up Amelie. Get up. _Pushing up off the floor, Amelie went to look back at the mirror. With a quick swipe of her hand across it she got rid of the hateful three letters and stared down into the porcelain sink. Looking back up at the path Amelie made through the mist, she saw her face again. All the color had drained out and her eyes became rimmed with red. _This is what Moriarty does to you. Makes you feel weak and unworthy of life. A disappointment he called me. Well, no more. He wants me broken; I will show him I am indestructible. _Smiling at herself in the mirror, Amelie saw the determined glint of life in her eyes. _Indestructible._

* * *

Taking her time to fully enjoy her shower, Amelie was able to step out feeling restored. Her memories had returned and even though they were entirely unpleasant, it gave her the last piece of her mind back. _I'm going to have to tell Sherlock and John about this. About everything. Moriarty killed my parents. He wanted Sherlock to notice him so he killed me. I mean nothing to him. Only wanted to say hello. The man is surely insane. There is something gone, though. Something I am not seeing. Oh, yes. Why is Sherlock so important to him? _

She shook her head at that question and planned on asking that once the detective got up. Tossing her choice of clothing on, black jeans and a blue striped jumper- _Dear god, I have been in England too long. I am calling sweaters, jumpers- _Amelie walked back into the living room, rubbing her hair dry with a towel.

Stopping suddenly, towel still in hand, Amelie watched the figure that was on her couch. _No, that's wrong. Not mine, theirs. Quit being so possessive._

Taking her thoughts away from a personal scolding, Amelie's mind turned back to the lanky detective lying on the couch. Spread out exactly like she was herself five days ago, fingers steepled underneath chin, Sherlock turned his head to acknowledge Amelie.

"You are dripping all over my carpet."

Looking down awkwardly at the little water stains blooming on the floor; Amelie wrapped the towel around her head to stop the beads of liquid leaving the ends of her hair.

"You look ridiculous now."

"Thank you for pointing out the obvious, but it is keeping your floor dry, so do not insult the turban."

"A turban is a man's headdress usually consisting of a silken material."

"Yes, well now it's this towel on my head." Sherlock opened his mouth to say more, but Amelie stopped him with a pointed finger. "No you don't. I am feeling pretty spectacular now and it is really early in the morning so do not make me into a serious, angsty, teenager that I usually am because I am on the border line of sulking heavily with you giving me facts I already know."

Sherlock furrowed his brows at the pointing finger and closed his mouth with an audible click. Then, a thought came to his mind that Amelie could see displayed across his features. _Oh gosh, what is he going to say?_

"Are you ready to go?"

_What?_

Clearly, Sherlock saw the confusion on her face and simply said, "Two minutes. Downstairs." He then left the room, grabbing his scarf and coat and descended to the first floor of the building.

_I don't even know what just happened. _Dazedly, Amelie grabbed her boots and jacket and worked quickly to put them on. Just as she was about to go after Sherlock, Amelie decided to leave a note for John.

**Left with Sherlock going to god knows where. Don't fret.**

**-AE**

_Well, this feels like déjà vu, except John is the one being left. I wonder- _Amelie never finished her thought as she heard the door from downstairs open and close. Twisting around, Amelie picked up her scarf that was lying haphazardly on her suitcase and sprinted down the flight of steps with ease. Seeing the detective outside and already climbing into the cab, Amelie didn't stop her stride until she was flying ungracefully towards the open car door. Moving her feet backwards to stop her still forward moving body, Amelie ended up in a heap on the ground.

* * *

Sherlock knew Amelie would come as soon as the door closing sounded throughout the flat. He could see it in her eyes that she was too curious about what he was going on about for her own good. Sherlock played out various scenarios of her marching out of the door to the building saying something witty or nothing at all, but the one thing he did not expect was for her to fly out to the street and end up in a twisted ball of human. Shaking his head at the absolute absurdity of the girl, Sherlock stepped out of the black cab and noticed the towel still left firmly on her head. He subtly thought of simply leaving her there, but a strange feeling crept into his chest. The same indescribable sensation that he had the first night Amelie spent in his home, or when he saw her breathe again after pulling her out of the icy depths, or when he stopped her torrent of tears in a sterile hospital room, or when he saw the look of joy that came on her face when she entered 221B again, or watching her sleep peacefully on his table surrounded by chemicals and body parts, or just now. _What has this girl placed in my heart? _

Feeling like his emotions were entirely too exposed, Sherlock shoved them into the recesses of his mind by asking, "What are you doing," even though he already knew the answer.

Accusing eyes shot up to look at him and Sherlock had to stifle the urge to laugh. _Laughing. John makes me laugh. Now this girl is getting me to, as well? _Sticking out his gloved hand to Amelie, Sherlock said, "Come on. You aren't getting anywhere by sitting on the ground."

Taking it with reluctance, Amelie brought herself back to her standing height, which in no one's defense, was fairly short. Brushing off the slush and grime from her clothes, Amelie walked past Sherlock and into the warmth of the cab with her chin lifted. Sherlock sighed and turned around to follow Amelie. Instead of merely getting in, though, Sherlock plucked the towel from Amelie's head and went inside to toss it over the banister of the stairs. As he strode back to the car he saw Amelie's cheeks had gone pink and she was nervously combing her fingers through her wet hair. _Spectacularly mature and intelligent, yet she still frets over her hair like an average teenager. I don't understand her one bit._

Finally sitting in the cab, Amelie had turned away from him and the cabby opened his mouth to say something in regards to her spill on the sidewalk. Knowing fully what he was going to say was undoubtedly snide; Sherlock sent him a look into his rearview mirror that spoke louder than any words. _Do not say a single thing. Shut up and take me to my destination. _"St. Bart's Hospital."

The cabby gave a curt nod and set the vehicle in motion. Sherlock then chose to look over at Amelie and see if she was actually alright. Amelie stared back at him and thought of a thousand different things to say, but ended up coming out with, "St. Bart's Hospital? Why are we going there?"

For the second time that day, Sherlock became surprised. He was expecting something sarcastic, but this morning Amelie wasn't playing ball. It was almost disappointing, but Sherlock figured it was something that just came with the morning hours. " I need to get to the morgue."

Amelie had a bewildered expression come on her face as she asked, "Why?"

Trying to rile her up a bit, Sherlock retorted with, "A girl with your intellect should see the obvious. We are going to the morgue to examine the remains of cadavers."

Picking up on the bait, Amelie said, "Obviously, as a man with your intellect, you should have been able to understand that I was asking about the need of going to the morgue, not the _cadavers_ that will inevitably be there for examination."

_Not perfect, but that will do. _"Didn't I mention I was a consulting detective? The police need my help. There's been a murder."


	8. Sentiment

The ride to St. Bart's was silent. Sherlock had commented on Amelie's hair smell and Amelie commented on his feminine curls. The detective was quiet the rest of the trip in a sulk. Amelie thought twice of apologizing, but she stayed mute because he brought it on himself. _You started it with my turban, now deal with your curls. _

As the cab pulled up to the hospital, Amelie noticed the sun had started to make a red hue of the sky. _The sky is nature's canvas. _Whispering to herself, Amelie said, "For the mind disturbed, the still beauty of dawn is nature's finest balm."

Sherlock was tossing the fare at the cab driver when Amelie said this. He turned to watch the sky turn from an intense crimson to a flaming orange. "Edwin Way Teale," Sherlock said as he stood to appreciate the morning light.

Amelie climbed out of the cab and watched it speed away as soon as she closed the car door. Taking a sudden interest in her shoes as it turned a corner, Amelie said, "My grandparents were always in love with the environment. Where we used to live, the sky always had a beauty about it that you would only see in pictures. I wanted to know more about the world and nature, so I read everything I could get my hands on. Edwin was my favorite."

Sherlock slid his eyes from the ever-changing atmosphere and focused them on Amelie. "What made you stop?"

_Wow, my boots are awfully nice this morning. Oh, look at that, my hands are pretty nifty, too._ Amelie tried to get her mouth to avoid saying the answer, but it wouldn't comply. "They died. My grandparents, they died." _Eyes, don't you dare stop the in-depth inspection of your boots. Don't- _Amelie's eyes disobeyed her completely. Looking upwards, Amelie observed the face of the world's only consulting detective for any sign of emotion. _Blank. I suppose that's alright. He didn't know them_

* * *

Sherlock may have been blank on the outside, but inside, that odd emotion spread throughout his chest. He fought the urge to bring the slightly shivering and gloomy looking girl into an embrace. _What is happening? You're supposed to be inside examining the dead. Not out here, reminiscing about deceased family members and enjoying the sun coming up like it does every other day of the year._ In order to continue to hide the unusual sensation invading his heart, Sherlock turned with a theatrical gusto and entered the historic looking hospital.

* * *

"Sherlock!" Amelie called to the suddenly disappearing consultant. She entered the hospital and turned her pace into a jog as she struggled to catch up to the long legs striding down a hallway. Amelie gave up trying to keep the pace with him as he quickened his gait above her own. Annoyed, she stopped in the middle of another hallway that they had turned on. "Wait up would you? I don't know where anything is in here and if I get lost, I am just going to have to wander around London getting back to Baker Street!"

That stopped the detective in his tracks and he turned to look at Amelie. Instead of saying anything, though, Sherlock pushed open a door and walked in.

_My god, he is going to- _Amelie shut up her thoughts as she followed the detective into the morgue. What lay before her were two body bags, a detective and a mousey looking woman who followed Sherlock's movements with an adoring eye. _Two cats, lives alone, and appears to like Sherlock. I wonder if she knows Sherlock only has eyes for a certain army doctor. Poor woman, she seems like she is nice. _

The woman in question spoke up with a quiet voice. "I got your text, had the bodies rolled out as soon as I got here. Nothing like the company of dead people in the morning." Her joke fell flat and she decided to leave. Amelie was still standing in the doorway, though, so the woman went back a step as she saw her. Looking over her shoulder at a nonchalant Sherlock and back at Amelie, she stuttered out, "Uh, hello. Are you lost?"

_Texted her to roll out corpses at seven in the morning, but failed to mention he was bringing an adolescent along for a field trip. Fantastic. _Sherlock didn't say anything to help Amelie out and moved to open up the black bags. Shaking her head at the lack of support to explain her presence in a morgue, Amelie looked at the mortician-_her name is Molly Hooper on her ID-_ and said, "No, I'm not lost. I am here with _him._"

Molly furrowed her brows and asked, "How old are you?"

_Should I lie? There is no outcome that is positive if I do or don't. I suppose truth is my route. _"Sixteen, but don't worry, I'm not going to mess anything up."

"I don't really know if-"

Sherlock came to Amelie's liberation by saying, "Molly, I have brought her here on a learning experience. She is a good candidate for any medical school, but has little experience with the dead or forensics. Two fresh cadavers is the perfect start."

Molly looked between Sherlock and Amelie and went after Sherlock. "I don't think that-"

Sherlock stopped her by saying, "When did you get that shirt?"

Amelie became confused. _Why is he asking about her shirt? It's covered in cherries and leaves, not the most noticeable, nor attractive, thing about her. I like her eyes, and her hair is quite nice, as well, but the shirt?_

Molly looked down at her shirt and picked off an invisible piece of lint saying, "Two days ago. Why is it important?"

Sherlock had this strange look come into his eyes as he stepped closer to Molly. Speaking in a deeper tone than he already had, he said, "I've never seen it on you. It looks quite nice, actually."

_The dirty detective! Playing with a woman's feelings to get her out of your hair. Even I wouldn't, no; I would probably do that to get something I wanted. A good tactic- No, that is wrong. Feelings don't get manipulated._

* * *

While Amelie continued to have an inner conflict about the ethics of using someone's emotions against them, Sherlock continued to manipulate Miss Hooper to get out of the room.

"Really? I mean I guess it's nice if you think it's nice. Not that it wouldn't be nice if you thought it wasn't nice, which I guess would make it not nice and just, oh gosh. I'm, I'm just gonna go, you can do what you need here. Uhm, bye." Molly then fled out of the room in a burst of speed.

_Tedious. _Sherlock then turned to finish the de-bagging of the bodies. Pale faces stood out in the midst of black, but soon blended in with the silver tops of the slabs. Taking a moment to lay a sheet over the two corpses, Sherlock stood between them pondering which one to start on first. Not noticing that Amelie had gone quite still and silent.

* * *

_The final resting place of the dead is always preceded by lying on a cold slab. Cremation, cold slab. Embalming, cold slab. Autopsy, cold slab. Is it unfair that once the life leaves our body we end up here? Poked and prodded by strangers that remove themselves from thinking that you were once human, but now an inanimate object, or a wax sculpture waiting to be molded into a an ashy end or a perfect doll. I suppose it isn't our fault that these cadavers lay here; we are just doing them justice, whether it be making them presentable for an open casket funeral or finding the people who put them on the cutting board. Am I bothered looking at another of my kind having its life ruthlessly taken? I don't believe so. I think I am more bothered that someone had the gall to put these two here. Am I wrong? Inner conflict again. How marvelous. _Cautiously, as if she were going to wake the pair up, Amelie walked over to the cadaver that Sherlock had decided to check first.

It appeared that Sherlock had already learned everything he need from the woman lying in front of him, so he twisted to look at the adjacent male. Amelie stayed with the woman, though. _Funny, Mom, Dad, Grandad, Grandmom, they all looked so much more pleasant than this woman does. They almost looked alive in their caskets, but her? She looks like all life has evacuated and nothingness has taken its place. I guess the embalmers haven't had their time with her, yet. I wonder if she is going to have a funeral. Does she have anyone to miss her? Mid thirties, tan line on her ring finger, indent still present, though, so it must have been recently removed by another, not herself. Not the most skinny of people, but isn't overweight. Cared about her looks, tinted eyebrows, dyed brown hair, but it is a natural color, so she must have had prematurely grayed or had a stressful life. Most likely the former. Conclusion, she had someone to impress, but was comfortable with her looks, so she kept them maintained. Obviously she will have someone to miss her. I've missed everything of importance, though. Why is she here? How did she die? _

Amelie leaned in to check for any depressions on the woman's skull for any blunt force trauma, but stopped as she noticed her bare hands. Pulling her hands back, she flipped them over repeatedly as if latex would suddenly appear. Then, just like that, white latex gloves deposited themselves into her open palms. Astonished, Amelie looked up at Sherlock who was simply stood there moving his hand as a sign to continue with what she was going to do.

Snapping the gloves on, Amelie stepped back to Mrs. Blank, and gently placed her hands on the woman's temples. Half expecting to have the woman open her eyes at the sudden placement of her hands; Amelie removed them for a second waiting for some slight reaction. _Nothing. You are being silly, Amelie. She is here because she is dead. She isn't going to yell at you for exploring her scalp. _Replacing her hands after making it clear to her mind that Mrs. Blank would indeed stay still, Amelie worked her fingers around the woman's pate. She immediately felt the difference in the sturdiness of Mrs. Blank's skull as her fingers reached the back of the head. Muttering out loud her deductions, Amelie said, "Death by blunt force trauma. Skull fragments entered the brain and made it into mush, judging by the frothy purge. Whoever did this didn't want Mrs. Blank to see them. Why? Fear of being recognized or trying to be stealthy?"

Amelie detached her hands and turned to Sherlock to ask him, but the look on his face showed her that he heard every last thing that she deducted about the woman's death. "It was about stealth. They killed the dog as well. We're done here. I'll text Molly to replace them." Sherlock then walked out of the room, leaving Amelie stunned behind.

_I didn't even get to see the man. Did I say something wrong? Did I not see something? I don't even know what it was that I was supposed to see, I just saw. Where is he even going?_ Amelie rushed out of the morgue, depositing her gloves in a bin, only to run into the man standing right in front of the door. Falling on the ground, Amelie looked up and asked, "Why the hell are you standing right here? I thought you left me behind."

Putting a black phone into his coat pocket, Sherlock glanced down at Amelie and said, "I got a text."

Climbing off the ground, Amelie retorted by saying, "So, that means you have to stop in front of a door that you knew I would come rushing out of to simply read a text?"

Quietly, Sherlock said, "There has been another murder."

"Oh. Does that... Does that mean we are going to check it out?"

Sherlock turned furious eyes on Amelie and coldly said, "No, it does not mean that _we_ are going to check it out. It means that _I'm _going to check it out. I do not need you there interfering with my work." Sherlock then stalked off, again.

Taken aback, Amelie stood making little flailing movements with her arms. "What do you mean interfering?" she yelled down the hallway.

Sherlock stopped and slightly turned his head to get Amelie in his peripheral. "You are interference to my work. You bring _sentiment_ into your calculations and allow your judgment to become clouded by it. Those two in there are dead. Now there is a third. Yet, you fail to see that. You see them with blood still pulsating beneath their cheeks and a heart that still beats."

Still confused, Amelie asked, "How is that interference to you?"

Turning fully around, Sherlock gave up having a shield to hide behind and let his anger flow dangerously between the two of them. Through clenched teeth, Sherlock said, "You. Gave. Her. A. Name. I don't need names to make deductions, but there you go and give her one. She isn't a pet or newborn, she is dead. With a name, there is a back story. A back story that I write from the evidence provided. Who was Mrs. Blank? Did she have children? Did she have black tea or coffee? Did she read the morning post? All of those are details that I always see when a person is alive, but her? In there? She has _no need_ of a back story. The only need is to find whoever put her and her husband there, so that the people who were once in those bodies have justice. Now do you SEE why I cannot have you around any longer? I do not _want_ you or your sensitive deductions rolling around a crime scene."

Amelie bit her lip to keep her emotions under control. _He is being overly emotional now. He doesn't mean it. He said at the hospital I am wanted. He doesn't mean it. _Tears came back into Amelie's eyes as she told herself again and again that she was definitely wanted and Sherlock didn't mean it. With a distinct crack in her voice, Amelie said, "I'm sorry. I didn't know what I did was wrong. I just, it won't happen again."

"Of course it won't happen again," and Sherlock turned to leave the hospital with Amelie standing, yet again, alone in the middle of a hallway.


	9. Apologies

**So, this took an awfully long time to post and I apologize for it. School started up again this week and my time is a bit constrained now. Don't worry, though. It won't be a once a month update, more like a weekly one now. Thank you for reviewing, favoriting, following, or just simply reading. Everything you all do just makes me smile so much and I may or may not flail excitedly about. ALSO (I know this is a rather long note this time around) some of the other wonderful fanfictions I have read on here recommend songs to listen to whilst reading. I thought it was a nifty idea, so I recommend for any of the chapters in this story "To Build a Home" by The Cinematic Orchestra. Even if you don't listen to it as you read, I just recommend it for just your everyday tunes. Really killer song, in my opinion. OH! (I am still rambling, apologies) This chapter has emotions and POV changes and a suicide in it, so just a warning that it may get tricky with more than one thing. I really don't want you all to start reading and be like, "Why did she not warn us?!" I prefer keeping you all as happy with my writing as possible. FURTHERMORE, any character names presented in this are purely fictitious. Honestly, if your name even resembles one of the sub-characters, I will change it right away for you. I think I am done now. Okay.*****awkward ninja smoke departure that never really works***

**-HS**

* * *

Sherlock stormed out of the building without looking back. Cutting in front of an older couple to get into their cab, he shut the door and hissed out, "Greenaway Gardens." The vehicle started to move immediately and left a stunned looking pair of elders in the dust. Over and over did the scene play in Sherlock mind of what happened at the morgue. Desperately, he tried to piece together what he found on the two corpses instead of feeling that unnamed emotion tearing his heart in two. _The blow was from a downwards angle and made by a larger object with a cylindrical shape. I said I didn't want her. Any injury sustained in that way comes from a shorter and weaker assailant who needs a heavier and larger object to even fracture a skull. She is alone. The wounds paired with the death of the canine show a need for stealth, but the basic description matches up with a possible child as the murderer. She manages to deduct with sentiment. A child would fear recognition. Amelie had deducted both that and the need for stealth. Lestrade said it was a suicide of the couple's only child. Need to get the file and see the crime scene for confirmation. She didn't do anything wrong. I left her- _**BZZZZ**

Taking the buzzing in his coat pocket as a well needed distraction from the sensitive thoughts, Sherlock pulled out his phone and checked the caller ID. _John._

Setting his jaw in preparation for a military scolding, Sherlock answered the call and slowly pressed the phone to his ear.

_"Bloody hell, Sherlock! Where did you take Amelie?"_

Avoiding the truth Sherlock said, "Late morning for you, John. It is almost eight."

_"It was only late because I didn't have a full-grown man-child rampaging through the flat at ungodly hours!"_

Sherlock winced inwardly at being called a man-child. _I am not a child._ "I do not rampage." Sherlock could almost hear the soldier hold the phone away from his ear to not break it.

_"Sherlock. This call isn't about you. It is about Amelie. Where. Did. You. Take. Her."_

Glancing back at the already disappeared hospital, Sherlock said, "The morgue."

_"Fu- Sherlock. Are you kidding me?!"_

"When have I been known to joke about such trivial matters, John?"

Deep breaths came through the line and a calm, yet intense voice replaced the near screaming one earlier. _"She died and has no recollection of what happened to her. So, you decide that the best place for her is a morgue?"_

Sherlock took a moment to think about how horribly everything had played out for that morning all because of his decision. "I didn't think-"

_"No. Of course you didn't. I am coming to get her and bring her back home. Continue with whatever experiment or case it was that you were working on. God da-"_

The line cut off before Sherlock could hear the rest of the sentence. _I don't know if she is still at the hospital. I don't know if she is safe. I don't know if John will find her. I ran away from emotion, but it's still after me. Stupid, stupid, stu-_

"This the place, mate?"

Sherlock focused his eyes back on reality and saw the flashing lights and police cars that surrounded an average looking suburban home. Tossing a random amount of change at the cab driver, Sherlock left the stunned man behind and drifted underneath the police tape without thinking of anything other than the stricken look of grief that Amelie wore as he told her she was again, unwanted. Vaguely, he heard the one and only Sally Donovan call out after him.

"Hey, freak! Where do you think you're going?"

Stopping at the sound of her voice, Sherlock dropped his head. _I cannot deal with this now. _"Sergeant Donovan, I am here to help." He then continued to walk past her.

Turning her head to watch him pass with his eyes on the ground, Sally asked, "Freak?"

Sherlock stood at the doorway of the house and a few officers had gathered around Sally to watch what was going to happen. Slowly turning around, the group standing there saw the only emotion that the world's only consulting detective would ever show them. A single lonely drop of water made its way down his cheek and splashed upon the ground in silence.

For the first time in years, Sally Donovan would call Sherlock Holmes by his proper name. "Sherlock, are you alright?"

Everyone could see the muscles pull in his face to make his usual scowl. They could also see the moment when they failed do so. _I can't even be myself. Messing up and the day isn't even close to being finished. _"Let's just get this bloody case done and over."

As Sherlock stepped into the house, Anderson was coming out. Sherlock wasn't even bothered to insult him and just ran through him.

"What is your problem, Fre-" Before the rest of the word could come out of his mouth, Sally placed a firm hand on his arm.

Scrunching his eyebrows at the hand and turning to look Sally in the eye, Anderson asked, "What are you doing?"

"Not today, Anderson. Just. Not today."

Anderson opened his mouth, but decided to keep it shut as Sally gripped his arm even harder. They and the growing group of officers, all watched as Sherlock strode through the house out to the pool.

* * *

Detective Inspector Lestrade wasn't even fazed to see Sherlock swoop in like a superhero. Knowing Sherlock, he would want all the facts first. Sherlock mildly processed them as Lestrade threw them out in the cold air.

_Seventeen. Female. Suicide. _"Did you find a bat of any kind in the house?"

Lestrade hadn't even finished the review of everything when Sherlock asked this. "Yeah, it was next to her note."

Stepping closer to the pool and seeing the hole left in the ice, Sherlock could barely be heard as he asked, "What did the note say?"

With a tone of puzzlement Lestrade replied, "I'm sorry. We could never be happy here. Now we will all be happy up there."

Moving his head from the eyes of the D.I. Sherlock noticed he was standing right next to the body bag of the girl. Bending down he unzipped the top and viewed her face. _Pale. Lips like my own. Dirty blonde hair. _

"Sherlock. What are you doing?"

Taking his time to zip the bag back up, Sherlock stood and said, "There is your murderer."

"Of the parents?"

"You will find the bat as your weapon and the injuries to the mother and father conclusive to an assailant being a child of the proportions like her own."

"Are you positive?"

Sherlock didn't bother to answer. _Of course I'm positive. He knows I am. Amelie looks like her. Almost died like her. _"Lestrade?"

Taken aback by the emotion clogging the detective's voice Lestrade moved forward to lay a hand on the man's shoulder. "Yeah?"

"What were their names?"

"Anthony, Marcie, and Devyn Terrings."

Turning to look Lestrade in the eyes, Sherlock said, "You are a religious man, no?"

Still confused more than he cared, Lestrade said, "I go to church on Christmas if that counts for anything."

"Do you believe that they will be happy up there?"

"I don't know, Sherlock. I really hope they are"

_Hope. Happiness. Love. Want. Confusion. So many feelings. I have to fix this. I have to tell Amelie she's wanted. I have to go. _Without a second thought, Sherlock turned from the pool and ran through the house. Splitting the group of officers in half, Sherlock raced after the cab that was just leaving the house. He jumped in with an excited demeanor and yelled at the yet again, stunned, cabbie, "St. Bart's!"

* * *

Halfway there, Sherlock made the cabby stop at a small shop, and then continued on his journey.

* * *

As soon as the cab got near the curb, Sherlock bounded out and into the hospital. Only to find himself stopped by a wall to his face. Lying flat on his back and noticing how great the ceiling looked with different colors crossing his eyes, an angry army doctor stood over him.

"She isn't here, Sherlock. I assumed you had taken her again, but our dear friend Molly explained to me she saw Amelie alone, outside of the morgue, shaking. She also mentioned that Amelie ran out of the building to god knows where when Molly went up to her. You _left_ her, Sherlock, and now she is gone."

_Gone? That isn't right. She was here. She shouldn't have moved. She-_**BZZZ**

Both doctor and detective looked at the pocket from where Sherlock's phone had vibrated. Taking it out, Sherlock said, "It's a text."

Still fuming, John asked with the intensely calm voice, "From _who_?"

Standing up on his own, Sherlock replied, "Mycroft."

"What does it say?"

Reading aloud, Sherlock said, "Your Miss Amelie is very good at getting around. If you care for her like I think you do, go and get her from the Inner Temple Gardens. M.H."

John shook his head. "Sherlock, I thought you liked her."

"John, I have a problem."

"Now is not the time to discuss your problems. Come on. Let's go get her."

* * *

_It's lonely here. Like Westwood. The winter has made these grounds isolated. There's blood-red bobbles covering the trees. Must be nearing Christmas. I wonder if Moriarty is going to stop by this time. There aren't any places to throw me to my death. Not that my death would matter now anyways. I haven't got anyone to want me. John probably isn't even bothered that I left with Sherlock. _

Large tears pulled out of Amelie's eyes by gravity alone. They weren't meaningfully shed by her, she couldn't do that anymore. Amelie lived years without dealing with the trivial emotions that came with life, but just this week alone had dried up her wells. Unfeeling of the cold morning air, Amelie continued to sit alone on a bench, watching clouds pass by. As she stared upwards, her eyes stopped leaking, and she thought her heart had stopped feeling. That was until she heard a pair of footsteps, one brisk and short, one long and cautious, come to approach her.

_I suppose my heart isn't as unfeeling as I thought it finally became. Pity. I could really use a break from all of this nonsense. Being killed, being given up, and finally being unwanted, you would think my poor mind could have a rest. Yet, those footsteps just want to tear me up even further. I think I have an overload. ERROR. So many emotions that I can no longer feel them. Is this heartbreak? Maybe. It hurts, that I know._

Amelie moved her head slightly to see the two men come closer. "Hello."

John spoke first as he drew nearer. Kneeling down in front of Amelie, studying her tear-stained face, he said, "Thank god, you are alright."

Amelie couldn't stop the laugh that escaped her. _Alright? Alright?! No. the last thing I am is alright. _"You are wrong, Doctor Watson."

Confusion came into John's eyes as he asked, "What?"

Not bothering to answer him, Amelie turned her head to look at the swollen eyed and distraught looking detective. "I got it figured out you know. That murder you ran away to take care of was actually a suicide. A suicide of Mrs. Blank's daughter, right? She did it, if you didn't know. Matches up to all the facts."

Sherlock stepped forward to lay a hand on her rosy cheek in a silent apology, but Amelie jerked away. Getting up from the bench and moving from the stunned and stony figures of John and Sherlock, Amelie spoke at the ground. "Do not try to show me you are sorry or that you care. I understand that it is mentally impossible for you do so."

Sherlock stammered out, "Amelie, I didn't me-"

Turning around she faced him head on. "You do not get to tell me that. You meant every word. I am fine with that. Send me back to America. They will find someone to deal with me there."

Feeling left out, John said, "Amelie, you are not a problem that needs dealing with. I want you here. You are absolutely wonderful. Plus, it's Christmas in a few days. You shouldn't be alone."

"You have Sherlock to take care of, Doctor Watson. I am just another burden that is more than willing to leave." Turning around to stare straight at a CCTV camera, Amelie yelled out, "Hear that Mycroft! I am willing to leave! I want to leave! Send me away! Just send me-"Amelie collapsed on the ground unable to continue. Her head pounded out a painful beat of its own and she just wanted a home to go to. _I just want a home._

* * *

John moved forward to comfort the girl like he did once before in the hospital, but this time he came to a stop as a leather gloved hand pulled on his arm.

"John. Just let me fix this. I need to fix this."

John looked back at the detective's face. Seeing the swelling in his left eye, where his fist had made contact, and hearing so much emotion in that calculating voice, John relaxed and allowed Sherlock to pass by him. _You better make this right, Sherlock. I don't know what you said or did, but you need to fix this._

* * *

The consulting detective crouched down to Amelie's level. Everything in him was screaming at him to pick her up and just hold her close, to make her feel wanted and loved. If it was yesterday evening or even earlier that morning, Sherlock would have just ignored it, but now, after everything, Sherlock did what he would never do. He listened to the screams and scooped Amelie into his long arms.

Amelie looked at him with large eyes, like when he told her she was truly wanted in the hospital. "What are you doing?"

"I am going to take care of you."

"Sherlock put me down."

"I am not very decent at this whole feelings thing. Sentiment may be found on the losing side, but you, Amelie, don't lose with sentiment. I don't feel like I am losing, either. I'm sorry. You are one of the few in this world who I do want around, who I always want around. I am so sorry."

A smile broke through Amelie's stony expression and she wrapped her arms around Sherlock's neck. Seeing Doctor Watson standing in shock, she beckoned him over and felt his arms wrap hesitantly around Sherlock and her. "You know, Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"You can really put me down now."

"Right, yes." Lying her feet gently back on solid ground, Sherlock remembered the stupid little thing he had gotten from the shop. "Oh, uhm, Amelie?"

"Yeah?"

Fishing it out of his pocket, Sherlock opened Amelie's hand and dumped it in. Already having so many emotions, Sherlock said nothing and turned to get the group a cab.

Carefully, Amelie opened her palm and looked at the small trinket lying in the middle of it. John did as well and asked, "Why did he get you that?"

Picking it up and holding it in front of her eyes, with a retreating detective as her backdrop, Amelie said, "For the mind disturbed, the still beauty of dawn is nature's finest balm."

It was a simple necklace really. A chain with a stone surrounded by silver hanging on the end. Yet, the stone spoke a thousand words. Its colors went all the way from a dark purple to a blazing yellow depending on how the light struck it. _Like dawn itself. _Clutching it tightly to her chest, Amelie took John's hand and they went to catch up to Sherlock.

* * *

Mycroft Holmes leaned back in his desk as he watched the, oh so, touching scene of forgiveness go on. Calling his assistant known today as Lauren in, he said, "Do cancel the order for a foster family, would you? I think my brother has managed to find her a home. She has yet to realize it. Put him on as a temporary guardian, as well. He won't ask for it."

"Yes, sir."

"Also, I want an update on the current location of James Moriarty. I do want a chat with our favorite criminal."

"Right away, sir."

Content, Mycroft spun his chair around a few times. _Yes, I do believe this will be his final chat. A final chat, indeed. _


	10. Christmas Eve

**Hello! I know, long time, no update. Things were a bit busier than expected. Anyways, just a few things to let you all in on. 1) This is after the Hounds of Baskerville, but some time before The Reichenbach Fall. Just imagine it as an "in-between" case period. 2) Apiology is the study of bees. c) no 3) if there is anything else you lovely readers want to know, just PM me or review it and I will get back to you pronto. I want to thank my reviewers individually, so here it goes. Katherine Winchester, Katies2105, yes-i-am-a-genius, Teshka, the Guests, Anonymous, Bint234xnight, Yeedle, Frstbitten, Crystalskies14, and Iris, THANK YOU for taking the time to review this. I also want to thank all of my followers and favoriters and of course anyone and everyone who reads this. I love you all. Last note, I met some wonderful people on here and their story is called, "The Path he Walks Alone." Made me cry. You might want to check it out because I am not lying about how nice the authors are. Alright. I rant too much. Apologies. Again, I love and thank each and every one of you. I am out!**

**-HS**

* * *

Just as John had said, Christmas was only days away. From the time of the morgue incident to the evening of the dreaded event, things went smoothly in Amelie's life. Her headaches only bothered her when she forgot about her medication, she blew up the kitchen just once in an experiment gone wrong, John made her an enormous amount of scrambled eggs each morning, and Sherlock stayed Sherlock, except he was more gentle and kind towards Amelie. Only once did he become truly frustrating when he received a text from Mycroft about a problem of some sort. He refused to talk to anyone and insisted upon flipping his phone in his hand and looking out the window.

The flat had transformed over the course of the time. Lights, decorations, and candles went up all over the inside of the building. Amelie hated it. Sherlock attempted to make it seem like he loathed it as well, but Amelie caught him glancing over at his skull in its Santa hat one too many times for him to even remotely be speaking the truth. _It isn't my fault that I hate Christmas. Not like I was dropped back into the orphanage by three different families on this day or my parents died Christmas morning because I wanted it that way. I will smile and act, though. For John's and Mrs. Hudson's sake. _

"Sherlock, I am going to run out to Tesco's and get some eggnog and gin, alright?"

The detective simply waved his hand at John and went back to reading his book on apiology. Having nothing better to do, Amelie decided to go bug Sherlock.

"You know the bees are disappearing?" No reply.

"The whole science community is in a fuss about it." No reply.

"They think it has to do with climate change, but I think that it could be like that one episode of Doctor-"Amelie was interrupted by Sherlock slamming the book on his lap.

"Will you please shut up?"

Smirking at her accomplishment, Amelie said, "You failed rather miserably."

Looking appalled at failing anything Sherlock asked, "What did I fail?"

"My patience test. I really thought you could hold out a bit longer than a few remarks."

Narrowing his eyes at her, Sherlock didn't grace that comment with an answer. Instead, he opened his book and continued reading. Amelie frowned at the lack of a response and decided to just leave the conversation there. Going to lay on her designated couch, Amelie realized she hadn't gotten anything for the Baker Street family. _I could always catch up to John and find something at a small shop, but I don't know what I would get. Think, Amelie. It is one day until Christmas. What can you do? Oh. _"Brilliant!"

Sherlock looked over at Amelie as she excitedly went about getting paper and a pencil. Deciding her odd actions were far more intriguing than his book he asked, "What are you doing?"

Stopping in mid lean over some chemicals resting on the counter to get a ruler, Amelie said, "It is a secret."

"How secretive do you plan on being as I can see what you are doing any way I turn?"

"How about you just read your book?"

"I can't when I see you leaning precariously over a mixture of chemicals that could very well explode if they come into contact with each other."

Finally reaching the ruler, Amelie leaned back into an upright position and pointed the stick at Sherlock. "You didn't want me to bother you, yet you insist upon being a nuisance. Don't try to deduce what I am doing, Sherlock. It isn't going to end well." Amelie then closed the kitchen off with the sliding glass wall and sat in the nook to go about her Christmas gift. _D_. _B flat. F. B flat..._

* * *

Voices seeping through the small gaps of the glass disturbed Amelie's composing. _Seriously? I need at least two more chords and a phrase with a partial in it. Hey, voices? Be quiet._ Her mental demands went unheard in the psychic world of the flat and Amelie gave up on finishing her piece. Laying her head down (loudly) in frustration, Amelie combed her fingers through her hair to coax the notes back, yet they refused to return. _Fine. Fantastic. I will finish it later._

* * *

_John. John. John. Where are you, John? There are people in the flat, John. I can only stand one of them, John. Why are you still gone, JOHN? _Sherlock called out cerebrally a multitude of times, but the army doctor failed to report. Deciding he was left alone until John returned, Sherlock attempted to slightly be sociable without moving from his chair.

"So, you were right, Sherlock."

_Lestrade has said something about me being right, most likely referring to the case. I am always right. _"Obviously."

Rubbing his hand on his neck, Lestrade let out a huff of laughter and said, "Yeah, suppose it is. Anyways, thanks for the help, mate. Wouldn't have figured it out without you."

Leaning in the doorway, Sally Donovan smirked and added on, "Well, we would have figured it out, sir, just not as fast as our genius."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at that. "Was that a compliment Miss Donovan?"

Widening her eyes in fake disgust, Sally replied, "Don't expect it to happen again... freak."

A teenage boy at the mantle was playing with Sherlock's skull. Turning around with skull in hand he asked, "Is this real?"

Sherlock scanned his eyes angrily over the child. "Yes it is. Put. It. Back." The teen hastily placed the skull back after hearing the venom dripping from the detective's voice and shuffled his feet uncomfortably around. "I'm sorry."

Sally rolled her eyes at the teen's awkwardness and said, "Sherlock, this is my cousin's son, Will Fallion. Had to-"

Sherlock already deducted everything five minutes earlier to her stating this and interrupted by saying, "-Bring him here because his parents are in the hospital for his younger sister. They didn't want his Christmas Eve spent in a sterile waiting room with other grieving families, so they dropped him off inconsiderately on you. You are here because you have confused feelings over my actions at the crime scene a few days ago and had nowhere to leave him." Turning to the now frowning teen, the detective continued to say, "You don't want to be here, but you also don't want to be at the hospital. Try to not break anything and be quiet and I think I can manage having your presence around."

Lestrade jumped in and exclaimed "What is up with you Sherlock?"

Sherlock scrunched his eyebrows in confusion and asked, "What do you mean by that Lestrade?"

Grinning a little, Lestrade replied, "You are being somewhat pleasant. Has your Christmas present already come?"

A certain army doctor, a not-a-housekeeper landlady, and mortician walked in at that moment as Sherlock struggled to find an answer to his change of attitude. Following the soldier's movements to greet everybody, Sherlock managed to catch his eye and sent another silent message to him. _Glorious. John, save me. I managed the people, now you take over._

John received the memo and said, "Well, I didn't expect you all of you to even be here, especially you Sally. I hope Sherlock has been behaving."

A snort escaped Sherlock. _Behave? I always behave._

* * *

As Sherlock rolled around a thousand thoughts in his mind, the rest of the group continued to talk and catch up. All was completely dull to the detective and he desperately wished for his violin. Realizing it was just next to his chair; he brought it into his hands and gently moved the tips of his fingers up and down the strings.

Sherlock plucked at the instruments taut cords and notes bounced around the room causing a hush to come upon the gathering of people in the flat. Mrs. Hudson's smile reached past her eyes and she asked, "Oh, deary, could you play us a little festive tune? You are so wonderful at it."

Music always has been Sherlock's shield for sentiment, so he gladly reciprocated by grabbing his bow and filling the space with holiday harmonies.

Watching Sherlock intently, Sally whispered to Lestrade, "I never knew the freak could play."

The Detective Inspector only smiled and said, "I believe there are a lot of things we don't know about Sherlock Holmes."

John was standing next to them and shook his head. "I still don't know anything about him. That is just Sherlock for you."

Molly overheard the group beginning to chat again so she popped in for a comment. "I think it's just wonderful what he does."

Everyone laughed as they started talking about the things Sherlock had done, but they, and Sherlock's music, stopped as they heard a thump come from the closed off kitchen.

Lestrade was the one to ask the most obvious question first, "What was that?"

John and Sherlock stared at each other with wide eyes and John, without looking away, said, "Have we not told you? We, uhm, have another tenant."

* * *

_Someone is rapping on the door. Abrupt, yet concise, and began at a shorter height. John. _"Yes, Doctor?"

The divider slid open and a sandy blonde head popped in. Amelie casually flipped her music sheets over and under a plate and turned to look at the army doctor as he began to speak.

"We have some unexpected guests over and we may or may not have forgotten to tell them you were living-"

A voice yelling from the living room interrupted John. "Just bring her in here!"

_Not Sherlock. Not female. Older and commanding, but not like a military style, more of a correctional officer. Someone Sherlock and John works with. A detective as well? _Curious to see if she was correct, Amelie gathered herself up, wrapped her lengthy midnight black robe around her petite figure, fixed her hair into a messy bun, rearranged her necklace, and walked through the now open door. Her eyes drank in the fresh individuals in the room easily. _Molly, Mrs. Hudson, Detective Inspector, Sergeant, and... teenager? Drifts towards female Sergeant, must be a nephew or relation of some sort. Are they waiting for me to say something? Interesting, they must be in shock. _Smiling, almost too brightly, Amelie broke the silence by saying, "Hello."

Quiet. _Why is Mrs. Hudson silent? Wait, she left. The elephant in the room probably urged her to go grab some treats. Everyone is staring, am I supposed to say something more?_

"Apparently you haven't been informed of my residence here." Silence.

Furrowing her brows in annoyance, Amelie said, "I have been here for almost two weeks now. My name is Amelie Emmerton. John and Sherlock are my temporary guardians-" Sherlock opened his mouth in protest and Amelie stopped him by saying, "There are two reasons why Mycroft made you upset the other day. Moriarty and guardianship. I am going to assume it was both." _And the jaw snaps shut. Score: Amelie: 1 Sherlock: 0_.

Turning to the silent as ever group of a D.I., Sergeant, teenager, and mortician, Amelie continued her explanation. "I understand you have questions. I don't want to deal with the tedious roll of inquiries that'll be asked, so do try to not interrupt me. Yes, I am American. Yes, I am a teenager. Sixteen. No, I do not have parents or any family of that matter. They died. Sherlock and John are suitable guardians. Moriarty is why I am here. No, I don't want to talk about that tonight."

Silence was the loudest one in the room at that point. _Nothing? Oh come on, this muteness is more aggravating than when they were talking. _Amelie turned her head expectantly at John to tell him to fix the visitors via eye contact. Obviously getting the message, John cleared his throat and asked, "Is anyone up for some gin and eggnog?"

* * *

That seemed to be the medicine for the shocked guests and they all followed John into the kitchen, including Sherlock, except for Will. He could only focus on the girl standing in front of him. _She is beautiful._

Amelie paid him no attention as she went to sit on the couch and rubbed her hands over her face in weariness.

Not knowing what to do, Will decided to walk over to the lounger and sat timidly on the other end of it.

Amelie narrowed an eye at him in annoyance, but eased up the glare when she noted he had a dying sister in the hospital from the identification bracelet sticking out of his coat pocket. She still didn't want to talk to him, though.

Will, apparently, had other ideas. "I'm Will."

Rolling her eyes, Amelie replied with, "Clearly that is you, judging from the name sewn into your clothing tag."

A flush of red came across the boy's fair skin as he pushed the tag back into its rightful place. "That was really, ah, observant of you."

Amelie took a deep breath in and slowly let it out. "Trust me when I tell you that I am far more observant than simply seeing a name."

"How observant is that, then?"

_I just wanted to sit here and wait out the mingling. _"I don't know how observant I am. I just am."

"Oh."

Amelie thought the conversation would end there, but the topic decided to stand as Will spoke, again. "What else do you see about me?"

Closing her eyes and biting her lip, Amelie turned entirely towards the teenage boy and opened her eyes to really look. She read everything from his two Persian cats to the guitar playing to the family troubles. Sighing, Amelie said, "I have learned most people don't enjoy having their life story told to them. Although, it makes no sense about why it makes some so upset, I am not ignorant to the fact that there are things they wish to be left unsaid."

"My sister is dying, my mum and dad are splitting up, I play the guitar, and I have two cats, but I really hate them."

"I know."

Will smiled and said, "I know you knew by the way your eyes addressed certain points of me. Thanks for considering my feelings, but I asked. You don't have to ever be afraid when I asked for it."

Nodding her head in understanding, Amelie thought the conversation ended. She leaned further into the side of the couch and listened to the conversation going on in the kitchen. Yet again, Will decided to keep the chat going. "What do you think they are talking about?"

Amelie let her head fall into her open palms and thoroughly massaged her temples. "Me. _William._..Me."

"You must be pretty interesting, then."

_Sherlock! John! Get these people out of the house. I cannot properly socialize. Help. S.O.S. Anyone? This is the worst non-rescue ever. _"I don't know. I have a dead family, a criminal who tried to kill me, and two guardians who are the most wonderful, yet absurd human beings I have ever known. I am just the thing that ties all of that together."

Not realizing how upfront she would be about death, Will grasped for something, anything, to say to that. He settled for a simple avenue of conversation. "I see. Well, you have a pretty cool name."

_Is this what normal people talk about? _"It is a name, a series of sounds by which people can either choose to call me by or choose to not call me by. Just like yours and everyone else."

Will gave a small laugh and shrug. "I know, but yours is just a unique series of sounds."

Amelie frowned in confusion. _What is he doing? Did he just call me unique? What am I supposed to say to that? Is this an attempt at friendship? I'm not good at these things. Should I inform him of that? _"I'm not very...good... at," Amelie took a moment to move her hand between the two of them and continued saying, "this."

The boy smiled and calmly said, in assurance, "I am absolute rubbish at this as well. Small talk has never been my forte."

_Small talk? Is that a saying for children's conversations? This is tedious. What are the "adults" talking about? Moriarty. My memory- _"Oh, god."

Worry played across Will's face as he asked, "Did I say something wrong?"

Holding a finger up in his face in a silent sign of, "Do be quiet", Amelie continued to mumble things about being stupid and forgettable.

The teenager became concerned for the gorgeous girl shaking her head next to him, so he scooted closer and leaned his head closer to her own. "Are you alright," he whispered.

_Breath is too close and too minty. I don't believe this is definition of friendship. Space. It is personal. _"I. Am. Fine. Just incredibly stupid."

Biting his lip in trying to conjure up something to say to that, Will decided to say, "I don't think you are stupid. I mean, you seem fairly intelligent to me."

"Of course, I am intelligent. My actions and lack of saying anything is, in fact, what is stupid."

Confused as ever, Will leaned back into the couch and said, "What didn't you say?"

_His thigh is touching my own. Wrong night to wear shorts. My robe's stuck underneath me. Not friendly terms. Is this flire, florn, flirping, oh, hell. What's the word? Flirt? Ah. That is it. Flirting. Oh, joy. _Looking deliberately peeved, Amelie turned her head and two crystal blue eyes met her own gray-green ones. "I _remember._"

Will couldn't help, but swallow at the intensity of Amelie's tone. He wanted to ask about her remembering, but found himself lost in her calculating eyes. Forest green around the edge with flecks of gray in the filling color of emerald, but the green and gray landscape was shattered by a sun burst of gold emanating around her pupil. His eyes drifted, without warning, to her cupid bow lips and suddenly, he noticed how close the two of them were and was automatically standing. Rubbing his hand along the nape of his neck and into his wavy brown hair, Will said, "I am sorry, I didn't, I don't." Absent were words to properly explain himself.

Amelie watched the boy pace about the room in fascination. _I have no idea why he is upset. This is wonderful! I am so completely at a loss about what just happened and I am happy about it? I want to know, but do I? I still have to tell Sherlock and John that my memory returned. I don't understand why I forgot. Why is he still pacing? It is annoying. _"Stop that."

Will stopped and leaned back into his heels. Turning his tinged with pink face towards her pale and calm one, he unlocked his stiff jaw to let out a quiet apology. Amelie didn't understand why he was about to make amends so she stopped him from saying anything by demanding, "No. Don't do that."

"Don't do what?"

"Apologize. It is meaningless. Also, I don't understand why you would, so don't."

"I, well, I suppose, okay." Defeat played across his features and Will went to sit back on the couch. Together, he and Amelie sat in silence, listening to the hushed voices of everyone talking. "Christmas Eve isn't really my favorite eve."

"Nor is it mine, Will. Nor is it mine."


	11. Incapable

**Wrote this in the wee hours of the morning. I am sorry if it is terrible. Writing emotion into a high functioning sociopath and keeping him in character is harder than one would think.**

**-HS**

* * *

The eve of Christmas passed with hushed undertones coming from the kitchen.

John leaned on the counter unable to reply to what Sally was saying. _Come on now, Sherlock. Now isn't the time for your bloody mouth to be shut off. Say something!_

"Are you two even _qualified_ to take care of a child?" Sally hissed.

Lestrade gave an agreement in taking the time to point at the chemicals on the counter. "I know you both are adults, but you can not be serious. Look at what both of you do! How can you even have the time for taking on a teenager?"

John could see the anger coming from Sherlock. Easily, he could reciprocate the feelings. Clenching his hand to keep it from shaking, John quietly whispered, "Look, the first things both of you need to understand is that we are_ temporary_ guardians. We took her on because she has no one. Her foster family just threw her away for god's sake! What were we supposed to do? Leave her on the damn streets?"

Molly couldn't hold her own thoughts back any longer. Looking at the detective who had his hands gripping the edge of table, she said, "Sherlock, you brought her to the morgue. If what you said, you know, about her being dead and then leaving her all alone... I mean I am not blaming you or anything or trying to make you feel guilty, I just mean that, oh gosh. Can you really make sure that she's going to be alright?"

_I cannot believe this. _John didn't allow for Sherlock to speak up."Of course we can make sure she will be alright. We aren't incapable, you know."

Sally picked up a container of human ears and didn't say anything as Sherlock snatched them out of her hands and put them by the sink. She crossed her arms as if she made her point very clear without needing to use any extra breath from her lungs.

Closing his eyes and taking a moment to put all of his emotions in check, John fell into his soldier's stance. Straight back, lifted and set jaw, clenched fist, and a slight roll of his Adam's apple as he swallowed down a thousand and one profanities. Stepping forward and glancing at the pained expression on Sherlock's face, John breathed in Sally's ear, "_Get. Out."_

Stunned at what the warm and jumper wearing army doctor just said, Sally had to ask, "What?"

"I said. Get. Out."

Lestrade couldn't believe how intense John had become. "John, we are only-"

Not wanting to hear any of it John turned to Lestrade and said, "You, too. Get out."

"But, John-"Lestrade stopped at the look John shot at him. Not knowing what to do, Lestrade looked over at Sherlock to see if he would be any help. Looking at the bone white fingers gripping the edge of the tabletop and the deep breaths passing through his friend's body, the D.I. decided that leaving would be in best interest. "I'm sorry, John. I didn't... I'm just going to go now. Come on Donovan."

"Sir, we can't-"

Already having his coat back on Lestrade interrupted the Sergeant by saying, "Yes, we can. No more. It isn't our place. Come on."

Reluctantly, Sally turned to leave. John heard her call Will and all of them descending the stairs. He could also hear Mrs. Hudson giving them a Happy Christmas and muffled replies of it back to her. _That was a bit not good. _

Molly stuttered out a quick farewell as she saw John look regrettably at the shaking form of Sherlock Holmes. Hurriedly she said, "Happy Christmas", and sprinted out of the flat and down the steps.

John could see the inner agony Sherlock was dealing with. Everything Molly, Lestrade and Sally had said hit home. Sherlock blamed himself for everything that had happened to Amelie. Her death, her break down, her abandonment... Everything. _He is questioning himself. He thinks they were right. _

Hearing soft footsteps walk into the kitchen, John didn't have to turn around to know it was Amelie. Silently she came up behind him, and hooked her arm inside his. Together they stood watching Sherlock until he lifted his head to look at them back.

Cracks in the baritone voice were clear as Sherlock said, "I'm sorry. I am so sorry, Amelie. Everything that has happened... I thought I could take care of you. I thought I could keep you safe. I am wrong, though. I am never wrong, but this? Me taking care of you is wrong."

John moved his head to look at the teenager as she snuggled further into the crook of his arm. Quietly she said, "I know."

John let his mouth fall open and he didn't take his eyes off Amelie to see that Sherlock had done the same thing.

Amelie turned her head so that her eyes could meet John's and then looked over at the shocked consulting detective. A smile spread across her face and John was desperately confused and heart-broken. _I thought we were doing an alright job. I didn't think that she would find herself to not like it here. Why is she smiling?_

Stepping away from John so she could see both men at once, Amelie slowly said, "I know that you taking care of me is incredibly wrong. It is undeniably wrong. What is right, though, is us, taking care of each other. That, Sherlock and John, is incredibly right."

No one said anything as Sherlock came over and brought Amelie into his chest and silently sobbed. John came over as the two started to sink to the floor and joined in on the embrace. Absent mindedly running his fingers through Sherlock's mess of hair, they all sat on the kitchen floor with Sherlock saying, "I'm sorry. I am so sorry" over and over.

* * *

Amelie knew what the adults had discussed as soon as she saw the trembling consulting detective. She could see it in the fingers that held on to the table for dear life, the shudders that could barely be seen rolling through his body, and the shining eyes that turned to look at her and John. _Doubt isn't well received with him. Sherlock is a man to believe himself to be entirely right and those people just leaked into his mind that he isn't. That he can't take care of me. _

"I'm sorry. I am so sorry, Amelie. Everything that has happened... I thought I could take care of you. I thought I could keep you safe. I am wrong, though. I am never wrong, but this? Me taking care of you is wrong."

Amelie hid her head in John's arm as he said this. She couldn't bear to see how much emotion the detective was willingly exposing. Speaking into the ridiculous cotton fibers of John's sweater, Amelie said, "I know."

She knew that was the oddest thing for her to say and wasn't surprised at the looks John and Sherlock gave her. _Devastation. I have just devastated them. I am not done, though. Can they really not see? It will never be them taking of me. It has always been us taking care of one another. _

Deciding she let the feeling of gloom permeate the room long enough, Amelie moved away from the army doctor to look at both of the men in the room. She couldn't break the smile that had stretched across her face. _I am making them so confused. I really shouldn't be taking any joy in this. _

Taking her time to say exactly what she had thought, Amelie stated, "I know that you taking care of me is incredibly wrong. It is undeniably wrong. What is right, though, is us, taking care of each other. That, Sherlock and John, is incredibly right."

She wasn't expecting Sherlock to enclose her in a shield of lanky arms as she said this. Uncertainly, she wrapped her own arms around him and felt his stability falter. Lowering them to the ground, she detected John's arms adding into the bundle of people. Amelie also felt her hair grow damp. _Is Sherlock crying? Oh my god. I made him cry. This isn't what I wanted. I didn't mean to make this happen. How did I even manage to do this? _

Amelie had her answers given as Sherlock insisted upon repeating, "I'm sorry. I am so sorry."

_This display of emotion is so weird coming from him. I think I should go with it, though._ Wrapping her arms even tighter around Sherlock, Amelie could only think, _it's us fixing each other. We are all fixing each other._

* * *

The group didn't see Mrs. Hudson take a picture of them as she sent it to the newly acquired number of Greg Lestrade. Typing in a caption (apparently you can do that now) she sent the message, closed the door of the flat and went to her own part of the building.

* * *

Lestrade opened up the message sent to him by Sherlock's landlady, Mrs. Hudson. It was a picture of John, Sherlock, and Amelie, tightly embracing on the kitchen floor. Captioned was:

**_Such dears. Looks like a family doesn't it, Inspector?_**

Closing his phone with a sigh, Lestrade couldn't help, but agree. _Does look like a bloody family..._

* * *

**I hope you all enjoyed this one. Things should pick up their pace after this and be better written. Thank you all for everything. Keeps me writing :)**

**-HS**


	12. Left Behind

**This chapter took falling asleep on my computer two nights in a row, way too much coffee, and the help of my favorite people known by most as TheSociopathsHaveTheBox. I am new to dedications, but this one is for my darling lazzyk. Hope this is decent.**

**-HS**

* * *

Sun filtered through the windows with a deadly accuracy towards the sleeping figure of Amelie. A ray targeted her closed eyes and her dormant mind reflexively squinted at the light. One sleepy eye opened after another and Amelie found herself greeted by an object wrapped in evidence bags pieced together by tape and tightened over with a bright yellow bow with "Crime Scene" stamped on it. _Please don't be a human head. I don't know what to do with one of those. _

Sitting up on her couch to get a better view of the gift, Amelie saw the one and only consulting detective peering over the police ribbon.

"It's Christmas morning, apparently."

Amelie laughed at rubbed at her eyes. "Yeah, Sherlock, I guess it is." Looking up, she gestured at the present. "What's this?"

Sherlock got up from his perch and walked to look out the window. "A gift of course."

Again, Amelie chuckled. "Yeah, I kind of got that. What am I supposed to do with it, though?"

Turning a confused face towards Amelie's drowsy one, he answered, "I think one would open a present."

Leaning back into the couch, Amelie said, "I think one would."

Amelie could see that her actions were making the detective confused and worried as he paced around the room. "Aren't you going to open it, then?"

Contemplating things as much as her still asleep mind could, Amelie decided to say, "Uhm, no."

"Well, why not?"

_This is too much fun. Let's go with a counter attack this time. _"Where is John?"

Wide eyes greeted her and they darted to look at his bedroom. Amelie couldn't believe it. "You cannot be serious."

At that moment an army doctor walked down the stairs and into the living room, wrapping his robe tightly around himself. "What can't he be serious about?"

Amelie didn't hesitate to grab a pillow and throw it at the now smirking detective. "That wasn't funny."

Easily dodging the flying object, Sherlock said, "Yes it was", and turned to grab another evidence bag wrapped present from underneath his chair to toss it at a confused John.

Catching it deftly, John said, "It is too early in the morning to figure out what you two have been talking about." Flipping the small gift around in his hands, the army doctor looked over to Sherlock, "What's this?"

Throwing his hands up in annoyance, Sherlock said, "Clearly, it is a gift!"

John looked over at Amelie and saw she had a similar one resting in front of her. Amelie shrugged her shoulders. _I don't know, either, Doctor Watson. _

"Well, I like the wrapping." John then reached under his own chair and tossed a blue covered box at Sherlock and a green one at Amelie.

Sherlock moved his around in his hands and opened his mouth to say something, but shut it after John shot a stare full of arrows at him. Amelie laughed, but took to setting hers down next to the evidence bag one. No one in the room moved to open their presents.

Both Sherlock and John looked at Amelie expectantly to start first, but Amelie couldn't bring herself to tear away the wrapping on either gift. "I haven't... This isn't... I can't..." Amelie was at a loss of words at how wonderful everything was. _I have two amazing friends, a comfortable house, gifts for the first time in years, and I still can't manage to simply be normal. Just open the damn presents. _

Looking up for help, Amelie found herself met by two smiles and figures moving over to accompany her on the couch. A detective on one side and an army doctor on the other, they all silently agreed to open their gifts together.

Out of John's spilled a blue and yellow knitted jumper and tea packets. Amelie and John both laughed and Sherlock smiled as he knew his gift was a success.

Sherlock muttered, "I knew it", as his presented him with a plush cow, but that didn't break his smile.

John said, "So you will always have some bloody milk you git."

Amelie meant to chuckle, but found herself silent as she stared at John's gift laying in her hands. It was a "Drowning" Flogging Molly band shirt. _The army doctor is too good. _

The doctor piped up and said, "I know that, when, you know, got attacked, the hospital didn't give you your shirt back. So, I thought you might like a new one."

Amelie's face started to hurt from smiling and she wrapped her arms around John. "Thank you so much. I love it, I really do."

John laughed and said, "Well, I hoped that you would!"

Amelie leaned back from the doctor and touched the outside of Sherlock's gift with a hesitant hand. Before she began to open it Sherlock said, "I understand that things occur and people grow sentimental towards those moments. This is my... _sentimental_... thing."

Amelie then ripped the pieced together evidence bags and police tape off to reveal a chemistry set. Amelie knew what moment Sherlock was referring to, but Sherlock continued to explain himself.

"You see, that night we worked around the table making connections and experimenting is one of my favorite nights. It was the night that I realized that you weren't entirely horrible to have around. Granted, I still screwed up a bit in between then and now, but it still stands. I like being your guardian and I am sorry I have been a horrendous one. So, this is my gift to tell you that."

Amelie was speechless. The day in the park and the night before already told her that Sherlock actually liked her, but to hear it truly elaborated and explained cut off all words to reply with. Everyone in 221B sat in silence trying to find something more to say. Finally, Amelie remembered that she had her own gifts to give and leapt off the couch with sudden exuberance. Looking at Sherlock, she said "That is so incredibly wonderful, Sherlock. Absolutely perfect." She then turned towards John and continued to say, "You are also perfect, John. This is all so wonderfully perfect! You know what, though? This isn't done! I have gifts for you both!"

Amelie then rushed to the kitchen and snatched her music from its hiding place. Returning to the living room and grabbing Sherlock's violin and bow from its resting place by his chair, Amelie said, "I made this. I didn't exactly have the right opportunity to go and get something, but I can make music, so that's what I did."

Sherlock and John rested their backs against the couch as Amelie began to play for the second time in the flat. Amelie moved her fingers with precision over the strings as she hit every note she composed. Up and down the melody went with an underlying complexity she didn't even know she had in the song until she finally played it. The room faded to black as Amelie found herself lost in the song she designed. A high pitch and hilarity echoed through the instrument in the beginning, but then the tune turned solemn and dark. _My life here in England, this is my life. _The darkness fluidly turned to a joyous sound, but still had a mix of black. Amelie was reaching the end of her song, as she realized she never finished the piece. Notes soared higher and higher as the happiness came over the last bits of gloom and Amelie found herself in the perfect moment to finish the rest of the song when a ringing bounced around the room.

Amelie stopped the composition on a B flat as Sherlock went to grab his nuisance of a phone.

Gruffly, Sherlock asked, "What do you need, _Mycroft_?"

Amelie could piece together what was in reply by the expressions on Sherlock's face. _Moriarty. Case._

"I can't..." Sherlock looked over at John and Amelie and repeated, "I can't."

It was quite telling from the cringe Sherlock gave that Mycroft didn't appreciate that answer. _Must be terribly urgent._

"You aren't simply scheming, brother?" A pause. "Fifteen minutes." A click.

Sherlock sighed loudly and turned fully around with his eyes on the ground. "I have to go."

John couldn't have shown his astonishment anymore in that moment. "What do you mean?"

Sherlock had a reply ready to fire off as he entered his bedroom to shed his sleeping attire, but Amelie took the flame. "It's Moriarty, John. Mycroft probably has Moriarty and Sherlock is going to talk to him."

"What?"

Sherlock walked out of his bedroom properly clothed- _How does that man dress so quickly-_ and said, "She is right, John. It is Moriarty."

"That doesn't mean you have to go!"

Sherlock took John by the arms and said, "You know I do. This is so much more than him and I. He got Amelie, as well. This needs to end."

Standing off in the sidelines, Amelie watched the army doctor cross his arms and say, "Well, I am going with you."

Sherlock looked straight at the sullen looking girl and back at John. "You can't leave her. Not both of us. It can't keep happening."

_I am not getting left behind. _"No, you can't leave me. Not again. I am going with you both."

Stunned at the sudden defiance of Amelie, Sherlock said, "You can't come. I can't promise that what happens will be entirely clean."

Amelie crossed her arms and said, "Moriarty tried to murder me in cold blood, I can manage to watch an interrogation."

John took her side, "She has a point, Sherlock."

It was clear that Sherlock was wavering, "But... Amelie, we don't even know if your memory of that night has returned. If you can't even remember what happened to you, how are you going to remotely be okay with this?"

Amelie didn't answer and went to get on her coat. _I am wearing my pajamas and I don't care. _"You guys didn't even get my second present." Amelie didn't wait for a response to her statement. She continued to say, "I remember. I remember the snow and the apple and I.O.U. and Moriarty and the crack...", Amelie stopped there and let the truth of what she said echo around the room.

John stuttered out, "How... Amelie, how long have you remembered?"

"Since the day of the morgue. So much kept happening before I could say anything, but we have to get Moriarty now." Turning around to meet Sherlock's now cold and furious eyes, Amelie said, "He attacked me to make a point to you Sherlock. He wanted to say hi."

Sherlock looked like he had so much to say, but all that came out was, "Fine. Let's all go to say hello back."

* * *

The silent taxi ride landed the trio in front of a decrepit warehouse with broken window panes and rusted steel.

A soldier came running out of the front of the building and gestured with his gun to follow him back inside. Amelie looked at the other two for guidance as to whether they were actually going to go in, but they had already started walking forward. Amelie jogged to catch up to them, but slowed her pace as they entered the seemingly abandoned structure. Groups of uniform clad men crossed the floor in front of her and stacks of ammunition and weapons laid in unbroken rows. _How is all of this here? _

Amelie turned in circles to get a better view of everything. She spotted six concealed snipers and generals strolling along the skywalks. An office with giant glass windows overlooked the ground below, but the lights were off, so the room was most likely unoccupied. Stopping her spinning she looked around to see where Sherlock and John had gone. She almost lost them, except she saw Sherlock's giant coat slipping behind a closing white door.

Amelie sprinted to get to the door before it shut, but found herself tugging at a locked entrance. _Are you serious? I am not getting left again. _Focusing entirely on her fists pounding against the resistant metal door, Amelie missed the figures closing in on her. Until she felt a gloved hand close over her mouth and pull her away, she didn't think of having to fight.

Instinct came over and Amelie pushed hard off the door to topple over the man. More soldiers came in to take his place, but Amelie slid away from them on the floor and ran into the rows of pallets and guns. As she continued to run, everything became fuzzy around the edges and Amelie realized she was losing all forms of balance. _What was on that guy's glove? _Hearing footsteps and voices come closer, Amelie took to hiding in a space between the stacks. She thought she was safe as her world paled to darkness and didn't see the hands reaching at her.

* * *

Sherlock was extremely annoyed. He was angry and he was so very annoyed. At what, he didn't know, but the distracting emotions kept him from turning around and answering the pounding on the steel door. When he heard a slam come against it and the yelling of men, he couldn't help but smile. _Of course Amelie would give Mycroft's men a fight. _

John was walking with his head down and muttered, "They better not hurt her."

Sherlock knew it wasn't said for him to reply to, but he answered anyways with, "You know it was necessary. We can't have her seeing this."

John looked back at the now silent entry and said, "Yeah, I know."

The pair continued walking down the hallway, moving closer to a metallic black door labeled with, INTERROGATION.


	13. Burn

Mycroft stood impatiently waiting for his brother to get into the room. He looked through the double-sided mirror with disdain at a broken and bloodied consulting criminal. _This is tedious. You could have just killed him Mycroft, but no. You must give your baby brother his closure. _

A dissatisfied and annoyed sound escaped his lips as Mycroft checked his watch for the seventh time in a minute. Making use of the end of his umbrella, Mycroft tapped away _God Save the Queen_ until Sherlock and his blogger finally walked through the doors.

No one acknowledged each other as they lined up to look at the one and only, James Moriarty. Out of spite, Mycroft asked, "Hope Amelie will find herself to be quite comfortable, don't you dear brother?"

Sherlock sniffed in reply and turned to walk past him and around the corner to get into the Interrogation Room with his loyal John in tow.

* * *

As Sherlock entered the room, Moriarty turned his head and smiled devilishly. Taking a few seconds to analyze the consulting criminal, Sherlock saw almost too many details. _Has been in captivity for a week. Tortured on a schedule. Malnourished. Hasn't showered, nor allowed to relieve himself. Wrists are raw from the handcuffs, so much that it would indicate that he has not been moved since being sat here. Has written Sherlock on the floor in his own... blood? Yes, blood. _

Sherlock wanted this man to bleed more, wanted this man to pay for all the games he played, and wanted him to know how it feels to have your heart BURN as your best friend walks out in Semtex, yet as he looked at this shell of a man, Sherlock felt the need to at least remove the metal bindings nearly shearing off the criminals hands. So, that's what he did.

Kneeling down and picking around the locks, not paying attention to the protests of John and Mycroft, Sherlock released Moriarty's hands into freedom. The man only let them fall heavily and pitifully to his sides, though, and never took his gaze from Sherlock's face.

"Oh, _Sherlock_, I have missed you."

Sherlock sneered and lifted himself off the ground. Moving the toe of his shoe through his name inscribed in crimson, Sherlock said, "I can tell."

"You know, I am sorry about dear Amelie. I didn't know you had grown so attached to the orphan."

A wet smack sounded throughout the room and Sherlock wiped the blood off his glove on Moriarty's shredded shirt. "You do not get to speak of her."

The devil of a man began to laugh. He laughed and laughed and Sherlock had the urge to hit him over and over. He refrained, though, because this trip was for one purpose; information. _I am not a monster. I will not play his game. _

"You are spider, a spider with a thousand threads spreading throughout every crime syndicate and you pull each one to your liking, so why, if you have so many people to destroy, why have you chosen me to burn?"

Moriarty looked down at his bleeding wrists and brought one close to his face to smell the copper scent leaking out of it. He smiled even wider and said, "You really don't know, do you? It's because you and I are the same _Sherlock. _You and I are the same, except that you are more boring. Every genius needs an audience, right? Well, every genius also needs a problem. You are my problem and I am yours."

Sherlock took to walking around Moriarty in circles and hissed, "But I've got you, Moriarty. I've got you and you won't be a problem any longer."

"Oh joy, Sherly. Are you going to kill me? Are you going to make me bleed until the very last drop leaves my body and my eyes close one last time? Don't be dull, you won't do that."

"Do not underestimate me. You took John and made me choose life or death for both of us in that pool. I was going to pull the trigger. I have made peace with death to make sure you no longer walk the Earth, yet death didn't want you or me that day. Then, you took Amelie and killed her. You took her life and I was willing to give mine to give it back to her. I jumped in after her no matter if I would never see the light of day again. Death didn't want her or me that day as well. You keep on _taking_ the things I hold most dear and you have ripped them into shreds. So, _do not underestimate me._ I will gladly put a bullet through your head if it means putting one through my own because you're done Moriarty. You can no longer hurt anyone. You're done burning me."

The criminal began to giggle insanely and looked over his shoulder at John. "You really think I'm done here, Sherlock. You kill me, you will be me. But you won't. You are _boring_. You are on the side of the angels. You are ready to die, but you aren't ready to kill. Might as well have your doctor pull the trigger for you. You are a good killer, aren't you Johnny Boy?"

John straightened his back and placed a calm hand over the Browning resting in his coat pocket. "I might be a killer, doesn't make me good."

"Oh, but you are! If only I had you before Sherlock. Would've made you a star, Johnny."

John smiled and said, "I prefer being a blogger."

Moriarty narrowed his eyes at the doctor as his hand fell from his pocket. Craning his neck back around to stare into Sherlock's eyes, he said, "Am I just going to be here for the rest of my existence? Or am I going to die?"

Sherlock turned towards Mycroft and asked, "Have you gotten all the evidence you needed from him?"

Mycroft answered, "What do you think I am brother, an imbecile? Of course I have gotten everything."

Nodding in reply, Sherlock went back to stand in front of Moriarty. "One last question. What did you do to Amelie's parents?"

Chapped lips curled up to reveal red stained teeth, "I didn't kill them myself if that's what you want to know. I had her mother assassinated because she wanted out for her dear daughter, and her father's supposed to be dead, but guess what Sherly."

Sherlock pulled his eyebrows together and asked, "What?"

Moriarty leaned forward and whispered in his ear, "He isn't dead and he is very cross with Amelie for getting her mother killed. Very cross indeed." Moriarty then leaned back and laughed for the last time.

As Sherlock stood up, he said to no one in particular, "We are finished."

Mycroft snapped his fingers and two men came in bearing gasoline cans. Sherlock walked past John and grabbed his arm to bring him quickly along.

"Sherlock, what did he say?"

"Her father is alive."

John stopped and asked, "What?"

Looking over the army doctor's shoulder and seeing the men uncapping the cans, Sherlock tugged at John to get him to move again. "Let's go."

"But her father is alive!"

Sherlock winced as he heard Moriarty's laughing grow louder and the splashing of liquid. "Do not tell her, John. Now, let's get out of here."

The smell of gas crawled its way into the area where the two men were standing and John understood why Sherlock was desperate to get out of there. Sherlock Holmes is not a killer.

"Okay."

The consulting detective and blogger walked quickly away from the room and even faster past the two-way mirror, but they weren't quick enough to escape the sudden orange blaze and the screaming of, "YOU WILL STILL FALL SHERLOCK. YOU WILL STILL FA-"

Sherlock's shoulders fell as the criminal didn't scream any longer and he spoke at the ground, "It won't be over, John. It will never be over."

The doctor pulled Sherlock into an embrace and said, "We just have to keep fighting the fight."

Sherlock nodded into his shoulder and they stood in front of the glass with a fading light falling on their figures.

* * *

**Did I just kill Moriarty? Is that totally out there and insane? Yes and yes. Had to happen for the plot I tell you! Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me thus far and to those joining now. I, no joke, love you all dearly. Spoiler alert: I'm so, so sorry (take that for what you want). See you all next Sunday!**

**-HS**


	14. Alive

**It is Sunday and as promised, here is the update. I have to thank a certain Moftiss for this one. Quick note, the part where it is A LOT of italics are kind of dreamy flashbacks. Okay. That's it. I am sorry for this. **

**-HS**

* * *

_Light is way too bright, head hurts, don't want to open eyes. _A noise came from nowhere and out of instinct Amelie snapped open her eyes to look where its origin came from. A man dressed entirely in black sat slumped in the corner of the large room and Amelie automatically stood up. Only to regret it as the blood came rushing from her head and Amelie found herself kneeling on the ground. _You are an idiot. You were definitely drugged, do you really think you'd be alright in the head?_

After insulting her thought processes, Amelie looked up as another noise slithered its way out of the man's mouth with a rumble. Standing up, slowly this time, Amelie moved closer to the man to make sure that the sound was actually from him. Another hiss came from his nose and mouth and Amelie decided the man was out cold. _Way to fabulously be a guard. Sleeping on the job. _

Amelie turned away from the loud snoring and back to look at the florescent lighted room. The only noticeable aspects were the metal table in the middle, the guard, the blue keypad on the door, and giant windows. _Wait, giant windows. Am I still in the warehouse? Seriously? Hold on, Amelie. Getting ahead of yourself. Why are you here and why are you relatively alone, huh? _

Shuffling over to the glass, Amelie looked over the scene below. Soldiers still crossed the floor in small squads and lab coated scientists moved in and out of the stacks of weapons and other assorted things. She didn't see any shock of unruly black hair, nor a sandy blonde head in the groups of people, though. _Shame. Too bad these aren't open and I don't have a supply of water balloons. Once I see them, they would regret leaving me behind._

Amelie shrugged her shoulders at the disadvantage and began planning other revenge tactics to use on the boys once they returned. She smiled as she thought of using her chemistry set to create an elemental hell, but it slipped off her face as she heard a series of five beeps and a click sound too quietly in the room. Not daring to turn around, Amelie watched in the glass reflection as a figure moved closer to her as it slipped inside. _He opened the door in stealth. Not staff. Tall, muscular, and breathing heavily. Anticipated for something and is a threat. SHERLOCK! JOHN! Do come quick._

The stranger spoke as he grew nearer to Amelie. "Hello, sweetheart."

Amelie cocked her head towards the voice and couldn't help, but think that she had heard that voice before. Knowing she had no options of escape, Amelie turned fully around to greet the man. As soon as she saw him, though, she fell hard back into the glass and let out a stunned scream; a scream which woke the sleeping guard.

Startled at seeing another man in the room, the guard yelled out in a heavy accent, "Whadya think yer doing, mate?!"

The man only brought out a silenced gun in reply and shot the guard without ever turning away from Amelie. Amelie was still collecting herself and didn't even realize a man had just died and the killer had stepped closer to her.

"Sweetie, sorry it took so long to see you again."

Amelie looked up at the man who she thought had been long dead. The man who she once looked up to, the man she once trusted, the man who she once called, "Daddy". She didn't trust this man, though. This man had a scar running the length of his hairline across a single eye and down to his jaw. This man had eyes that were cold and icy blue, not the warm and liquid sapphire she remembered from her childhood. This man was not her father. "Who are you?"

Her once-father moved a calloused and warm hand to cover Amelie's cheek. In spite of what she was thinking, Amelie leaned into the touch that was absent from her for so long.

"Don't you know?"

Amelie closed her eyes and breathed in the smell of his skin. _That is the same. Forest, he always smelled like the forest. This is dad. _"Yeah, I do now."

Suddenly, the touch hardened and Amelie felt her head crack against the glass of the window as her father slammed her against it. Leaning in close to her face, Amelie's father hissed, "Then, you should remember your mother as well. Do you remember her, Amelie?"

Tears sprang into her eyes as she recalled the memory of her mother. _Thin, blonde, beautiful, always smiled, smelled like lilacs. _Failing to keep her voice level, Amelie whimpered out, "Yes, dad, I do."

A smile crept on his face as she said this and he moved his hand to Amelie's pale throat to continue to hold her off the floor. "You got her killed, Amelie. You killed her."

Watery crystals dripped from the corners of her eyes and Amelie tried to reply, but found herself unable to speak nor breathe. Her father's grip grew tighter and tighter and Amelie couldn't help, but slam her small fists into his chest in protest. _God, I am going to die. I am going to die. I am going to die._

The hold on her loosened as Amelie's vision blurred into an empty shade of black and let her fall heavily to the ground gasping for air through her broken windpipe. The abuse was far from over, though. A large boot found its place in Amelie's abdomen and kept returning home, again and again. As the blows shattered her ribs, Amelie's father said, "This is what we both felt, Amelie. That car crash; crushed your mother and scarred me."

_Do not cry. Do not scream. Do not- _Amelie couldn't stop herself from letting out a blood curdling shriek as she felt her ribs crack. Giving up on being stoic, Amelie begged, "Please, stop. Daddy, please stop."

The boot stopped just as it was about to give another blow and rested itself on the ground. Her father chuckled at the sight of Amelie trying to sit up and watching her fail. "You want to know something, love?"

Amelie didn't bother to reply and instead focused on trying to get away. _Severe injury to right thigh. A well placed kick and a shot at the groin should give me enough time if I can just get up. _

Crouching slowly down to her level, her father said, "I haven't ever been far. Always kept up tradition. You killed your mom on Christmas day, so I had to make sure you were always crushed almost every Christmas after that. Grandad, Grandmom, they knew I was alive. That's why they moved to such a secluded place where the birds would always sing unless there was a threat. The birds didn't sing that day, did they Amelie?"

Shaking her head in refusal to believe it, Amelie tried once again to at least get to her knees. The ground met her face once more, though.

"Those families. Always thought you were a brat, didn't take much to make them put you back where you belonged. Put you where no one would love you."

Amelie felt her eyes sting with the rising of tears and watched as small drops blossomed on the carpet as she rolled over to get her hands underneath her body for support. The pounding in her skull and the sharp stabs in her side made her bite her lip so hard that blood mixed in with the salty tears. _Just shut up. You are lying. This can't be true._

"This Christmas I was going to finally say hello, too! I was going to make you beg and weep, but then I found out you were suddenly sent over here to England. You were so horrible for that family that I didn't even have to ask them to throw you away. I came to follow you and then I met up with Uncle Jim. Yes, he had your mom killed, but I didn't blame him. I didn't blame him for what you did."

Too much blood had built up in Amelie's mouth, so she spit it out hard enough to spray off on her father's shoes. _And here comes the swing._

A hard slap to the side of her face sent Amelie flying back into the window. She heard the crack of the glass and saw the spider web spreading out from where her body had made contact. The hit realigned her ribs, though, and Amelie was able to get up off the floor and stand unsteadily on two feet. Wiping away the crimson fluid from her lips and head, Amelie looked up into her father's eyes.

"You made friends, though. Friends who care so little about you that they let Uncle Jim get to you. I wasn't very happy he attacked you before I did. Let Big Brother Holmes know where he was. That's why he is even here today. That's why he will never leave."

Amelie kept her face in a marble statue, never letting her emotions show. _Sherlock and John care about me. They do. They are my friends._

"I have to keep up tradition, though, don't you see? It is Christmas and you don't even get to have coal. You only get this."

Her father's foot moved up to plant a foot right in Amelie's chest, but as his leg extended, Amelie moved to the side and slammed with all she had down on his bad thigh and into his groin. A shocked yell came out of him and he fell to one knee on the floor. Amelie limped quickly away, past the corpse of her failed guard, and to the blue light of the keypad. Recalling the exact noises of the five digits her father had input, Amelie pushed on the keypad 93756 and rushed out the door as she watched her father get up and run after her.

Despite the trickle of blood leaking into her eye and the shots of pain coming from her side, Amelie limped onwards, away from the trudging footsteps. She didn't bother to look behind her as she turned down a hallway and in through a doorway labeled as, "FIRE ESCAPE."

The slam of the door echoed through the stairwell, but Amelie staggered forward, not willing an inch of ground to be given up. She didn't flinch as she heard it slam again. Her only reaction was the moving of her feet faster down the steps and focusing harder on not tripping. Suddenly, Amelie was pushing against another door and falling out on the ground floor of the warehouse as her ankle twisted. Moving as quickly as she could away from the doorway, Amelie crawled across the floor screaming out for help. Strong hands found her ankles and began to drag her back into the stairs. All the staff of the floor were deaf to Amelie's pleas as a jet engine was brought to life. Looking backwards at her father with glistening eyes, Amelie quietly said, "I'm sorry" and kicked him square in the face.

Release came easy enough as her father reached up to stop the fountain of blood that exploded from his nose. Getting up, despite being broken, Amelie ran into the middle of the warehouse and away from her screaming father. _I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. _

Amelie ran blindly as tears and blood welled up in her eyes and didn't see the army doctor before she was sprinting head on into his chest. Safety found a place in her heart and the relief caused Amelie to fall into the stunned doctor's arms in a delirious state muttering, "He's alive and I killed her, he's alive and I killed her, he's alive..."

* * *

Sherlock and John walked away from the interrogation room with their heads hanging low and were stopped by Mycroft about halfway down that white-walled hallway. He gave them the clear to get Amelie, but was very hesitant before letting them go.

"Sherlock, listen..."

Wanting to simply get Amelie back, Sherlock turned away from Mycroft and called over his shoulder, "Thank you, brother, but I know where she is. I can get her."

Mycroft had let his reaching hand fall and moved it to tighten his tie. "Very well. Don't return to me, though."

_Why would I ever want to do that?_ "Bye, Mycroft!"

John looked curiously back at the pompous man as they continued walking and whispered, "What was that about?"

Sherlock had his hand on the door to let them out to the floor of the warehouse and hesitated to open it as he asked, "What was what about?"

Tearing his eyes away from the wringing hands of Mycroft, John said, "I don't know. Mycroft just seemed... Concerned."

A snide laugh left Sherlock's mouth and he didn't bother to reply. _Concerned. Mycroft is never concerned unless it has to do with a shortage in cake or blackmailing._

Walking out into the warehouse, a jet engine erupted and John clapped his hands over his ears to protect them from exploding.

Sherlock didn't, though, because as he looked up towards where Amelie should have been kept, a million cracks spread across a single window and a smear of red shaded itself on a small part of it. Placing an unsteady hand on Johns arm, Sherlock tried to keep his mind calm. _She's going to be alright. Must be alright._

John began to ask what was wrong with Sherlock but stopped as he followed the mans frantic eyes to a near shattered and bloody window. "God, no."

Both men simultaneously broke out in a sprint to get to the stairs leading up to the room. Knocking over chairs and people alike, they neared the door, not paying attention to the girl flying right at them.

John and Amelie crashed into each other and Sherlock skidded to a stop and looked over the damage done to her.

_Fractured ribs, shattered skull, abuse to face, bruises on neck coördinate with the pattern of fingers. Asphyxiation._ Sherlock let his mind buzz with deductions to keep his emotions from being engulfed in grief and anger. Amelie kept muttering something about someone being alive and she killed her. _He's alive... Her father... Her father did this. A high level security base and he simply sauntered in and did this to her. Mycroft._

Ignoring the whimpering of Amelie and the questions thrown at him from John, Sherlock roared out his brother's name and ran straight back to the first entrance of the interrogation room, only to find himself being pinned down by a military officer.

"GET OFF OF ME."

The soldier calmly said, "Sir, you have a message."

Whipping his head around to stare at the man who was bracing him to the floor, the consulting detective asked, "What is it?"

Getting off of him, the officer replied with, "It is from Mister Holmes, sir. He said it was either Moriarty or her. He said he had to give the girl over if he wanted Moriarty. He says he is sorry."

The man turned and left Sherlock with the word sorry hanging in the air. Sherlock slowly stood up and looked towards John who was sinking to the floor with an unconscious Amelie held in his arms. Doctors and staff stood away from them all, despite the pleas of John for help.

Looking straight at Sherlock and down at the beaten and broken girl in his arms, John yelled for Sherlock to get help, yet the detective stood as still as the rest of the crowd in the warehouse.

"I failed John. I failed once again."

"I don't care! Get over here and help with her!"

"I can't."

John laid Amelie's limp head slowly to the ground and marched over to Sherlock. Grabbing him by the loose part of his scarf, the now army doctor, not ordinary blogger, dragged Sherlock over to Amelie and said, "I need to get her ribs realigned or her lungs will be pierced and she will die. I need you to help me. I don't care if your mind isn't handling these emotions, I need you."

Sherlock nodded a yes and locked his sentimentality into the smallest room of his mind palace. Still, no one came to help the two men as they worked to undo the damage put on their Amelie nor did anyone move to stop the man slipping out the front of the warehouse. Someone must have called an ambulance as sirens grew closer and a grim irony of humor came as a Christmas song crackled over a random radio as the weather turned for the worst.

_"Oh, the weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful, and since we've no place to go, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow."_

* * *

_I am five and the radio is playing a song. __**Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.**__ Mom wouldn't let me open my presents that morning. The snow swirled in heavy gusts around the windows and mom kept talking on the phone. _

_"I can't keep doing this Jim. I have a life outside of the business and I can't bargain it."_

_Mom grabbed a knife and began to twirl it around in her fingers with an unnatural skill. I'm worried. I brought in my stuffed dinosaur closer to my chest and watched as Mom stabbed the blade deep into the counter. _

_"I'm done. We're done. It is Christmas and Amelie hasn't even opened her presents." _

_I don't care about my gifts anymore as Mom comes over to kneel in front of me. Her eyes are really shiny, kind of like how mine get when I scrape my knee. She is saying something about having to leave and I don't want her to go. I begged for her to stay. Daddy walked out of their bedroom and told me it was going to be alright. That they were going to be right back. They just had to go get something from the store. Yet, I know they are lying because the store is always closed on Christmas. So, I ask them to stay, but they leave anyways. They leave me all alone in the big house all by myself and I'm scared. I don't think Mom and Daddy are going to come home. I am right when the police officers and Grandad come to get me. They say it was an accident. Yet, it isn't true. It wasn't an accident. I know it, but no one wants to listen as they take me away from the big house. As Grandad sits me on his lap and tells me it is all okay, I just shake my head and reach for my dinosaur. I am in Grandads car, though, and my dinosaur isn't there and he puts me in the big people's seat and starts to drive away. I want my dinosaur and I want my Mom and Daddy, but I know they aren't coming back. _

* * *

_I am eight now. It is sunny and tropical at Grandmom's and Grandad's house for Christmas. They won't let me go to normal school because I am too smart they say, but I think that they are afraid that I won't come home like Mom and Daddy. I am okay with staying here, though. Grandad lets me read all about nature and Edwin Way Teale is so nice. He takes really pretty pictures, but I like his words more. Somehow, he makes his words prettier than his pictures. I like nature. I like how the sun colors the sky and I like how the birds are always singing. Nature makes my world feel safe and here, I feel at home. _

_I like Christmas with my grandparents. They put out oranges instead of carrots because they say the reindeer like them better and I believe them because they are all gone in the morning. I woke up and found them all gone, but I also found Grandad and Grandmom missing too. I ran outside to see if they were there and the birds had disappeared too. Not one single song, but the silence is broken by two big bangs. BANG. BANG. And the birds never sang again nor did Grandad point to the sky or Grandmom give me a hug again. They never were going to come home. They left me all alone in the big wide world and I haven't got anyone now. I am all alone. I haven't got a home._

* * *

_I am now fourteen and I have already gone through three foster families. Silly to think this family would be any different. They are calling me vile and unworthy and that I don't deserve anything. Of course I don't. I never have. I made them upset this time by telling Phil that his mistress is cheating on him in front of Margret. Of course Margret didn't want to believe that Phil was being indecent and thus began the yelling. Phil hit me a couple of times and I just took it because if I deserve anything, it was that. I told them to put me back and Margret told me that she was way ahead of me. Hilarious. They already had the paperwork to throw me away. Merry Christmas. _

* * *

_I am now sixteen and I finally have a family after two years of the orphanage. Make this number five. They are decent people and I try to not make them hate me. I accidentally let one of my deductions slip about what Lily, my foster-sister, had been up to with Kyle, her boyfriend. Boyfriends are tedious, always have to feed them and acknowledge them. I have no patience for it, but Lily does and she calls me a whore as I tell her Kyle is cheating on her. Off to England they send me after Fred and Janet catch me holding Lily on the ground after she had attacked me. Do I have to say Happy Christmas now? I know that once I get back to America it will be a trip into the mouth of hell's orphanage. Oh well. I don't care. I deserve it. Everything good in my life is always taken away because I don't deserve it. Then, as I stand there in a line of the most tedious qualities, the airport erupts in alarms... _

* * *

The private hospital room goes off in alarms of every variation as Amelie's heart rate climbs, then drops to a pulse of almost zero. The doctors are in a buzz of activity as they try to bring her back to a normal level, but things are going array. John and Sherlock sit impatiently outside, along with a worried William, who just happened to be there as this was the same hospital his sister was at. The noise is suddenly silenced and Sherlock stands up as a lone doctor walks out of her room. John grabs a hold of the mans wrist to keep him from shaking answers out of the medical professional.

The doctor checks his clipboard and says, "I'm sorry..."


	15. Escape

The doctor checks his clipboard and says, "I'm sorry," as he covers his mouth to contain a cough. Looking apologetic, the doctor continued to say after his hacking ended, "I'm a bit sick you see. Happy Christmas, I suppose. Anyways, your trooper Amelie in there is doing fine now. Her surgery made a few complications with the regulation of her heartbeat, but other than that, she came out just fine."

Everyone let out an audible breath and John said, "That's good. That's very good."

The doctor smiled and said, "I am sorry for the wait. It wouldn't have taken so long if it wasn't Christmas, but you know the holidays, everyone manages to get sick today. Even the doctors."

A smile graced the opposing army doctor as he related to the pains and aches of the medical field. _Thank god she is alright._

Sherlock impatiently asked, "Can we see her now?"

An astonished look crossed the doctor's face and he answered, "Oh! Of course! She is sleeping now, but it shouldn't be too long before she wakes up."

As the doctor finished, Sherlock shoved past him and into Amelie's room. John shook his head and sent a smile at the stunned man in an apology for his friend's behavior. Will simply followed behind with his eyes analyzing the tiled floor.

John slowed to a stop in front of Amelie's bed as his eyes scanned over her injuries. John Watson is no Sherlock Holmes, but he is a doctor and he can see the pattern of bruises that crossed her throat to large hands. He could see the stitches above her left eyebrow that relate to the cut of a hard slap. He could see from the wrinkles of her blanket that her ribs were heavily encased in cloth and bindings to keep them held together and that they were violently broken from a human foot.

John looked up to her hanging leg and pressed his lips tightly together as he gazed at a heavy cast surrounding her foot. _Sherlock said her father did this. He said that Mycroft traded her for Moriarty. Is this worth Moriarty? Her father broke her. He broke her and nearly killed her. No man is worth this. _

Shaking his head in disbelief, John looked over to her heart monitor and muttered aloud, "Her heart is still beating. It is beating against death and it keeps fighting." John chuckled and looked towards the ground. "Almost like myself. Always fighting, you and I."

Sherlock was leaning against the wall and said aloud, "We shouldn't have to fight."

John glanced over at the consulting detective. "Yeah, well that's the world for you. Fighting. Sadly, it's the best thing we do."

A cool voice spoke from the doorway and all heads turned to look at the man from which it came from. "Yes, Doctor Watson. It seems that it is the only thing we do excel at."

John didn't give the man another chance to speak before he slammed the posh man into an adjacent wall. Despite the height difference, John managed to keep a hold on the man's neck and braced him to the surface of dry wall. "What the HELL do you think you are doing here, _Mycroft?_"

Squeaking out at the enraged little man, Mycroft said, "I am here to apologize."

_I'm going to kill him. _"APOLOGIZE?!" John roared out. He swung his fist back in preparation to smash the sorry look off of Mycroft's face, but found himself held back from doing so as a long-fingered hand wrapped around his own.

"Let him go, John."

John whipped his head around to look at his Holmes. "What?"

"I do not like to repeat myself, John. Let. Him. Go."

John took one look back at Mycroft, then back at Sherlock. Letting out a heavy breath, John released Mycroft and inwardly smiled as he heard him wheeze and cough. On the outside, though, John was outwardly furious. "Are you protecting him, Sherlock?"

"Yes, I am."

A small 'O' formed from John Watson's mouth and he stammered out, "What…. Why?"

Sherlock glanced over at the bruised and unconscious Amelie and back at John. "Just for a moment, think if we didn't meet Amelie. If she was just another girl and all we needed to finally catch Moriarty was to give her over, would it be the same, John? Would this be the same?"

John quickly licked his dry lips and struggled to stay calm. "But we did meet her, Sherlock."

"And what if we didn't?"

A snort escaped John and he stalked to the side of Amelie's bed. "Look at her, Sherlock. She is innocent and she was beaten down and BROKEN for a man who is so much less than her. HE DIED, but she almost did as well and even if… Even if we didn't know her, it wouldn't make it right to simply allow this to happen. This is not who we are. Keep looking at her, you machine, and tell me that you would voluntarily let this happen."

A lack of a rebuttal was the answer to John's demand. Shaking his head at the absolute absurdity of Sherlock, John said, "You know. I thought we finally we getting somewhere. I thought you could actually cope with emotions for once and I guess I was wrong. You know, I'm… I'm just going to get some air. Come and get me if she wakes up."

With that, John stormed out of the room and out of the hospital, leaving behind three very stunned men. Mycroft let out an awkward cough and moved in front of his brother. "Well, I am glad that you see this like I-"

The man was suddenly cut off as a consulting detective pushed him out of the way and yelled, "Oh, shut up, Mycroft!"

"Where are you going? Not after Mister Watson, are you?"

"I was wrong!" Sherlock yelled over his shoulder as he ran after his blogger.

* * *

Mycroft rearranged his tie, a bit too forcefully, and let a few coughs for good measure. He stood in front of Amelie's bed when he heard a small clear of the throat. He turned around and met the crystal blue eyes and wavy brown hair of a teenage boy. "Who are you?"

The boy looked down at the floor and said, "I'm Will, but that doesn't really matter."

Mycroft stepped forward and said, "Then what does matter?"

Looking up, Will said, "She matters. Now, I am not the smartest one in the room, but, I don't think you should really be here. I mean, I think whatever you did is not one bit good, sir, and you should probably leave."

Mycroft laughed and asked, "Do you realize who you are talking to?"

Will cocked his head and said in a stronger voice, "No, and I don't particularly care. What I do care about is Amelie and from what I heard today, you are the one who helped put her here. I haven't really gotten to know her just yet, but if I daresay, sir, I haven't gotten her killed as of yet, either. So, I think you should leave."

Mycroft lolled a tongue heavily inside his mouth and simply nodded in answer. Twirling his ever-present umbrella, Mycroft walked out of the door leaving a threat floating in the air. "Don't forget who I am, William. This may not be our last time seeing each other."

As soon as the man left the room, Will let out a breath of relief. _Bloody hell. That was a bit intimidating, Fallion. Stood your ground for once, though! Good on ya!_

After giving himself a private appraisal, Will moved to the side of Amelie's bed and brought up a plastic chair to sit on. After moving around to find a comfortable spot, Will leaned back into the caress of the chair and gazed at the features of this sleeping girl. _She has bruises everywhere, but she still manages to be… beautiful. Whoever the hell did this is going to pay. _

Will glanced at his wrist watch and noted the time. _8:00 p.m. Not such a Happy Christmas. Six hours of sister time and two of barely acquainted gorgeous girl time all in a hospital where neither one are talking to me. _

Not knowing what inspired him to do so, Will started talking aloud to Amelie. "Hey, there. It is me. Will. From last night, you know. Only last night. Pretty weird. I mean it seems like we were just talking. Well, anyways, I don't know why it is just me here. I mean we barely know each other, but since you are sleeping I guess I can say this. I am a coward, so I have to say this when you can't hear me. You are beautiful and intelligent and I am in shambles. My sister is dying, she has maybe a month left, and my mom and dad keep fighting, and things haven't been very… good, in my life for a while. Until last night. Last night, although I was complete rubbish, you lit up my world. You struck me and now, even with all the bruises and cuts, you are still striking. So, I hope you wake up soon. I won't tell you this again, but I just want to see that light in your eyes and hear your voice because it made me happy. It made me truly happy for the first time in, oh who the hell knows how long. I suppose I should thank-"

A nurse's voice bounced around the room in a high pitch. "Delivery!"

Will turned around and glanced at the bumbling nurse. "Of what?"

"Her belongings and stuff. Have to give 'em to the guardians. Are you her brother?"

Will turned back around to look at Amelie. "Ah, no. I am just…" _What am I?_ "… A friend."

The nurse frowned at the back of his head and simply shrugged. "Listen, mate. It's Christmas and I've got a man and crowned roast waiting for me. Do ya think you could be responsible and take care of these?"

Will brought one of Amelie's limp hands into his own and said, "Yes, ma'am."

A smile played pleasantly across the nurses features as she watched the boy caress the patients hand. "I'll just be settin' them here, alright?"

"Yeah, sure." Will said without ever turning around.

The nurse placed the varied assortment of clothing and jewelry on a nightstand next to Will and quietly left the room. Will glanced over at the pile of Amelie's belongings in mere curiosity, but stopped his head from returning to gaze at Amelie's cool palm and instead looked at the shining necklace laying a top a pair of pajamas. Casually he lifted the stone and chain and was automatically mesmerized by the playing colors. One of the lights shone over Amelie and Will realized where the necklace belonged. Carefully he stood up and leaned over across Amelie to place her necklace around her neck. As the stone fell solidly on her chest, Will removed his hands from the clasp, ready to sit down once again. Yet, he never did make it to a seated position as Amelie's eyelids fluttered gently open.

Almost on automatic, she was speaking, yet as Will could tell she wanted to say things quickly, her words stumbled over each other in an effort to race out of her mouth. "Where am… No. That's stupid. This is a hospital. And you. You are here, but where… John and Sherlock. Where?"

Not knowing exactly how to tell her that her two guardians left after a fight over the man who supposedly put her here, he simply said, "They had to leave for a bit and it's just me for now. My sis isn't doing too well. I was already here and then they brought you in so I followed behind. You were in surgery for a really long time, but I was right here when the doctor let us into your room."

Amelie furrowed her brows, as if the mere process of thinking was muddling her brains. "They left you to stay here. There was a…. fight, wasn't there? No… don't answer. I had surgery?"

Will cleared his throat and said, "Uh, yeah. You didn't look too good coming in, you know. Bleeding, bruised, broken… They fixed you up really well, though!"

Amelie's eyes drifted to her cast and tried to take a deep breath of air, which resulted in a painful wince and a hand shooting to her side. Muttering under her breath, "Jesus that hurts."

Will chuckled and said, "Well, I suppose it wouldn't feel good. You should try to be more careful with that breathing, you see."

Amelie glared over at Will, but a smile spread pleasantly as she saw he was grinning back at her. "You are… You are joking with me, aren't you?"

"Yeah, yeah I am." Will smiled some more and continued to say, "I'm fairly shite with jokes. Glad to have you smile, though."

Amelie nodded and her grin faded away. "Will, let's get… let's get out of here."

"What?"

"I can't stand… these places."

Will pointed at her foot and said, "Well, you shattered your ankle. I suppose you really can't stand in many places at all."

Amelie frowned and said, "That's not what I-"

She was casually interrupted by Will saying, "Joking, again. Remember, shite at it."

Confusion marred her features and she nodded once more. "Well, I still want to leave."

"How are we supposed to do that?"

Amelie grinned and said, "Wheelchair. Doctors coat hanging by door. Do use your brain, Will. We… We are going to escape."

* * *

As Will ran about the hospital in a doctors coat, trying to find a wheelchair he was thinking of how terribly wrong this was. _She nearly died and now you are aiding her in escaping the hospital. God dammit, Fallion, this is not smart. Not smart at all._

He finally located a wheelchair and as he rolled back to Amelie's room under scrutinizing eyes, he continued to think of how horrible this plan was. All thought's left him though, as he entered her room and saw her lifting her blackened tank top over her head and around her figure, then a winter coat over top. It wasn't her vulnerability and beauty in the moment that had left him speechless, though. It was the violent shade of black, purple, and red that covered her skin where the binding didn't conceal that left him standing awkwardly with a wheelchair.

He glanced at her trousers and realized they weren't the shorts from the night before, but long and fuzzy pants, and was astonished at how she had managed to get them on. "How-"

Amelie glanced over over said, "Don't ask. I am just… versatile. Can you grab me that wrapping right there?"

Will grabbed the wrapping she was pointing at and placed it in her outstretched hand. She shed off one arm of her coat to reveal bloodied skin. Knowing he was going to ask, Amelie said, "I'm not the best at removing IV's apparently. Collapsed my vein. Not too much of a big deal. Just need to wrap it up."

Will grimaced as she wrapped her arm and it made a gruesome _squish. _"Your, uh, voice is getting better."

Amelie looked up from her arm repair and said, "Yeah, the drugs are wearing off. Starting to hurt, but it doesn't matter. Now get over here and help me into the chair."

Will complied and gently lifted Amelie off of the bed as her outstretched arms wrapped around his neck. Slowly, he lowered her into the chair and straightened his back to look at her entirely. "So, where to?"

Moving around to get her ribs and foot comfortable, Amelie stuttered out with a hint of distress in her voice, "Just out. Outside and away."

Will smiled kindly and said, "Well, Stepney Park is a little less than a mile from here. I always go there when the smell of the hospital is too much for me. We can go there. If you'd like."

Amelie looked out the window and saw snowflakes drifting lazily past. "Yeah, let's go there."

Off went Will Fallion and Amelie Emmerton from the Royal Hope Hospital in a speeding wheelchair and flying lab coat to Stepney Park at eight in the evening with feathery ice crystals swirling in the air. It was the most joyous feeling for them both, even if Amelie found it harder and harder to breathe.

* * *

**And you all thought I killed her... PSH. No. I'm sorry for that, you know (not really. It was brilliant). Anyways, I wrote fluff! Hope you all liked it. Thank you to everyone for reviewing and reading and just everything. I can't explain what it means to me. So, thank you all... so much.**

**-HS**


	16. Lessons

**Hello. I am so sorry about the wait, I just became really busy and out of touch with everything and well, I am okay now. I am glad to see that I haven't lost any of you amazing people and I hope this is a nice little chapter for you all. I have to thank Moftiss from TheSociopathsHaveTheBox for helping me with this chapter. Lots of love to everyone! xx**

**-HS**

* * *

_The wind is crisp and the snow is fine. My ribs are aching and my mind is reeling, but it is all okay because this is wonderful. This is so wonderful. _

Amelie and Will raced around the park, with Will as the strongman pushing Amelie's wheelchair, and they came to a gradual stop as Will ran out of breath to and energy to continue wheeling her around.

Talking in sporadic syllables, Will uttered out, "Gosh. That… Was… Fun. It was… Really fun."

A tittering giggle answered in reply and Amelie replied just as breathlessly, "Wheelchair… I need to always have one now."

The teens both started cracking up laughing although it was only funny to themselves. Amelie quickly stopped, though, as she felt her bindings shift and an acute pain hit her on the side.

"I suppose… I am still a bit not healed."

Will glanced down at Amelie as he saw her holding a side of her body tightly with both hands. Automatically he was on his knees in front of her, placing warm hands over her own to put more pressure on the pain.

"Are you okay?"

Amelie looked up and into his eyes and simply nodded, then turned her gaze to the near interlocked hands on her upper abdomen.

_This is… Nice? I don't like people touching me, but this… This is a good thing, I think._

Carefully, as the pain subsided, Amelie moved her fingers to intertwine them even further with Will's. She heard an awkward cough, but she continued to move her hand to fit within his own, exploring new boundaries of physical contact.

"Uhm, Amelie-"

"Shut up, Will. I am experimenting."

Will stood carefully up and tried to force the flush of his cheeks back into a pale demeanor, but failed completely as Amelie's thumb began to lazily draw circles on the skin between his thumb and index and a slight tug brought his now flipped palm closer to her eyes for inspection.

_Curious. He desires this… That much I can tell, but he does not feel comfortable. Why?_

Sharply looking up Amelie decided to ask exactly what was on her mind. "Why is this appealing, but strange?"

Will stuck out his lips as a signal that a search for an answer rolled through his mind. "I think maybe it's because we are all human, but some humans are more special than others and they don't realize it. They don't realize just how great they are and when exploring something new, I s'pose things can be a bit strange. Yet, not all strange things are bad."

_Not all strange things are bad. Yes, not all strange things are bad._

Amelie let Will's hand go and said a quick thanks under her breath.

"Thanks for what?"

Shaking her head at how Will could not possibly know, Amelie answered, "Thank you for explaining."

A blazing smile replied and Will moved back to the handles of the wheelchair to push Amelie around once again. Unknowingly, Amelie and Will both gazed upwards as a break in the clouds let a beam of moonlight drip sparingly on the two of them. Amelie was reminded of her first day at 221B as she watched her breath create foggy dances in the nighttime air.

The shrouds of condensed billows of vapor covered the moon once again and the park was left to be lit only by the orange lights of vintage lampposts. Amelie continued staring upwards, watching her breath intertwine gracefully with falling crystals, while Will allowed his eyes to drop. He gazed longingly at the pure innocence of Amelie as she was lost in creating small images in the surrounding air and felt a small smile creep back onto his face. "Amelie?"

A distracted voice answered. "Uhm, yes, Will?"

"You are American, right?"

"Brilliant…" _Ha! Melted that one._ "… Deduction."

"Heh, not too bad, was it? Well, anyways, do you miss the States?"

_Oh. That's… a not good question._

Amelie looked down at herself and surveyed her injuries. She thought of everything that happened since she had left America and she thought of everything that happened before she left. Comparing then to now, she realized she didn't care how many times she would be hurt here in England, she finally found a place that she could try to call home very soon. She found friends and although it had only been less than a month, she felt the bond that she could try to call family. Amelie had her answer easily.

"No, Will. I don't miss America. I have created so much here in less time than I ever did over there and it is… nice. So, no, I do not, nor will I ever miss America. There is nothing to miss."

_Was that not right to say?_

"Oh… I see. Well, I have another question."

_Back to the snowflakes. _"Yes?"

Amelie could hear Will scratch the back of his head. "This is probably not good to ask. Hell, I know it is the wrong thing to ask, but I have to. Who did this to you, Amelie?"

_My father, who apparently is not dead and blames me for killing Mom, which he is probably right about and he wants to kill me and he probably will, but that is no matter because I am very happy right now._

"My dad."

The wheelchair suddenly stopped and Will loudly repeated, "Your dad?! I thought you said, you know, your parents were, uhm, you know, not alive."

"Yep. I thought so, too. He is pissed off with me and this happened."

"But… why?"

Amelie was silent for a while before she whispered, "Because I deserve it."

The weight on the back of the wheelchair was released and Will was back in Amelie's line of vision. "Don't say that."

"Why not?"

Will brought his face closer to Amelie's and brought his hand back into play by gently brushing over the large bruise on her face. "Because no one deserves this."

_Don't be silly, William. I killed my mother. Of course I deserved it. _

Although Amelie was arrogant inside, her outside failed to match up. Cracking her voice mid-sentence Amelie tried to shoot out of her tightened throat, "But… But I do."

_Breath is warm against my lips. This feels also very nice. Cold and warm. Ice and steam. Milk and chocolate. So many things. Why am I thinking this? Stop it._

A bundle of hair shook fervently side to side as William quietly said, "No one deserves this. Especially not someone who thinks that they do."

"That doesn't make sense. If Columbus thought that he deserved persecution would he have not received it?"

A laugh escaped Will and he said, "Well, you have a point there, Amelie, but I am talking about you. You don't deserve anything less than love and care."

Amelie leaned back from Will's imposing face and asked, "Why?"

_He leaned closer. His skin is flushed with a tinge of red. Swallowing has increased by a doubled number. My own pulse is excited. What is going on?_

"You are beautiful, witty, intelligent, innocent, and sparkling. Yeah, you may come off a bit harsh sometimes, but as far as I can tell, you just speak what your mind is thinking and you aren't afraid of it. I think you are misunderstood by a lot of the world, including yourself and being beaten down and hurt isn't okay in any situation."

_His lips are nice. Why am I thinking that?! Amelie, stop it. You can respect attractive attributes, but that does not mean you can grow attracted to them. Is this what that is? Attraction? Why him? It has been a single day. He doesn't know a thing about me, really, and he is just going to compliment me? I like it, though. It is very, very nice._

Streaming through her head were thoughts to back out and roll her chair away, but as Will was so tantalizingly close, Amelie moved her own lips to his own, keeping her eyes locked with his own. The startled look of a fawn came into Will's eyes, but he did not retreat. Instead, they closed the distance in near hesitant seconds, but were interrupted as a nasally voice yelled out, "Oi! Fallion!"

Amelie watched as Will closed his eyes and let out an angered breath. The voice repeated again and Will opened his eyes and let out a hushed vulgarity. He moved away from Amelie and turned around to greet a mammoth of a boy and a few others surrounding him.

"Yes, Jeremy?"

The bright red and near infant like face gazed over top Will's head to stare at Amelie, then opened his mouth to speak. "Whatchya doin out here with your lady friend, huh?"

Shaking his head, Will replied, "We were enjoying the evening."

A small tittering infected the group and _Jeremy_ moved a step closer in front of Will. "She is pretty. Except for that nasty bruise and those cuts and that leg. What did ya do to her, Fallion? Get a bit angry on her?"

_Angry on me? Have they not met him? Large one has an alcoholic mother and few friends, uses his size and obnoxiousness to cover his pain and grief. Followers are drug addicts. One. Two. Three. Plus Jeremy. Non-threat if handled appropriately. _

Will had said nothing during Amelie's internal monologue and let his eyes drift to the ground. A big meaty hand clapped on top of his head and rubbed the brown curls in crazed directions, before lumbering feet moved around Will to get closer to Amelie.

"Yeah, you are pretty. Too bad you are all black and blue. I might have taken you home with me and gotten you away from this old dullard. Fun times with me, eh?"

Amelie smirked and said, "Thank you, but I have found myself to be content with William. He is my…. friend and if you haven't been able to realize this, he is very much the opposite of a dullard. William is quite interesting. Unlike you."

The rest of Jeremy's followers parted around Will to fall behind the boy who had taken yet another step towards Amelie.

"Oh, really? Is he _really_ that interesting?"

_I don't like his proximity. Closing distance on average of one step per three seconds. William is not moving. Will, don't be dull now. Come on, I am trying to prove a point._

Subtly moving her hands to the edge of the wheels, Amelie answered, "Yes. Far more interesting than you because Will has layers. You, though. I can read you like the back of children's novel."

_Two more steps. One more for his foot to be in position to be ran over. Come on now._

"And how is that, sweetheart? Children books are really quite nice when you read them."

"That's just it. It's because I can read you with ease and your story isn't a happy one. Alcohol is your antagonist, but you don't fight it. No, you are the character that decides to go against the world because the world hasn't worked with them. Alright in some situations, but in yours, your story is like a repetition of every other one and no one likes a copy cat."

_Did I just witness a mind snapping? Back out, Amelie. Back out!_

Quickly spinning the wheels forwards onto a sneakered foot and then backwards, away from the reaching hands of Jeremy and his groupies, Amelie rushed around them to gather Will. Rolling past him, Amelie panted out, "Come on, Will, let's go!"

The lost looking boy fell into a run after Amelie as shouts came from behind him.

"Fallion! Get your stupid girlfriend back here so I can teach her a lesson!"

_Me? Need a lesson? Oh, joy, keep running Will. They haven't a clue._

Suddenly, Amelie heard a thump and groan and quickly skidded to a stop, yet as the chair stopped, the rest of her body did not and Amelie felt as if her entire rib cage slammed to the front inside of her. Letting out a slight whimper, Amelie turned around to watch as the group of kids quickly advanced on a fallen William and shivering Amelie.

"Such a klutz, Fallion. Never were you gonna make it on the rugby team you arse. You can keep your bloody girlfriend, but not after I showed you how to be a real man around her."

A glob of spit landed next to Will's head and again, laughter echoed across the slowly blanketed park. Jeremy whispered, "Pathetic," and continued his move towards Amelie.

_No getting out of this. He is watching his feet and the front path is now too snow-covered to make progress. Will is being dull now. Oh gosh, be a real man. What does that even mean?_


	17. Found

**This one is dedicated to a lovely Miss Katherine Winchester.**

* * *

John was angry. No. John was livid. If he hadn't gotten out of that room, he may have just killed Sherlock.

_What the hell is wrong with him? He said, he SAID, he cared about Amelie and he goes and does THAT because he can't handle emotions right. For a man who can do anything, you would think having feelings would be something he could finally get used to. _

John walked out the front doors and was hit by a rush of cold air and small snowflakes. Looking around, he decided to walk around the back of the building, just relying on the cool weather to calm him down. Walking around he left wet footprints along the concrete that a detective would follow to catch back up to him.

* * *

_John. I am so sorry, John. I didn't mean it, John. I like Amelie. I don't want her to be hurt. She is my friend and temporary daughter and I want her to be awake and okay. I want you to be okay, John._

Sherlock followed in near exact footsteps out of the hospital and let his eyes shoot to the ground to check tracks in the light snow.

_Same shoe size and tread. Gait is similar to a John gait. Back of the hospital._

* * *

Leaning against a dumpster, John put his hands on his knees and rubbed one hand methodically up and down his leg. A familiar ache was beginning to echo within his muscle and the cold wasn't being very helpful. Whenever the good doctor leaves Sherlock, the ache comes back as a reminder that without the detective, John would be no one. He would be a no one with a limp and depression and a history that makes ordinary people cringe. That is why he left to sit on the side of a dumpster. If John Watson were to finally snap and float away from the great Sherlock Holmes, he would forever be lost in the darkness of life.

_I am horribly dependable on a man who can't muster feelings right and will probably grow sick of me. I am keeping Amelie, though, if he decides I am too dull for his tastes._

* * *

Sherlock came around the hospital and slowly stopped his break neck run as he watched John lean heavily against a decrepit dumpster. He looked shamefully as John allowed his hand to rub up and down his thigh and knew that his actions caused the pain to come back.

_I'm so sorry, John. I didn't mean it._

Cautiously, Sherlock moved one dress shoe in front of another, not paying attention to the crunching snow, but only his blogger. With severe hesitance, Sherlock stuttered out, "John?"

* * *

_Are you kidding me? He left Amelie alone with Mycroft and Will to come after me when he knows that I need space._

John got up off the dumpster and started pacing around, waiting for Sherlock to come closer. He tried desperately to hide his pain, but the limp still showed through, as did the tremor of his hand.

_Clench. Unclench. Clench, again. Don't let him see it._

Hearing the detective call out his name once more, John stopped his movements to just simply stare at the ground. He could feel his anger rise once more and the heat of his fury seemed to nearly melt the falling snowflakes around him.

"No, Sherlock."

* * *

Sherlock drew closer to John in cautious steps, like when one is trying to approach a bird without making it fly away. John Watson was a hawk, feathers brimming with the serious intention of going airborne. So, cautious steps Sherlock Holmes did take.

He heard John tell him no, yet he didn't care. He only cared about getting John to forgive him, even if it was going to include a fair amount of abuse.

_I know I messed up. I am sorry. I am sorry. _

Putting out his hands, trying to show the fuming army doctor that he was not a threat, Sherlock began his apology.

"I am sor-"

* * *

_He is saying it. He is going to apologize. Don't you do it. Don't you even dare._

"Stop it."

John doesn't even look up from the ground because he knows that once he sees Sherlock being truly apologetic, his anger will turn into a cool mist. He didn't want to calm down, though. This was a situation that needed to be fueled with raw anger.

"We have gone over this, Sherlock."

A small, nearly indistinguishable, "I know", plays into John's ears.

Nostrils flaring and hand tightening, John says, "I won't do it again. Amelie… How many times now, Sherlock? Less than a month and how many times has she been hurt?"

An answer was unable to get in between what John said next. Whipping around to stare callously at Sherlock, John spat, "First, Moriarty. Then, the morgue. Now, her damn father and guess what? You, again, as well. She is just a kid, Sherlock! She hasn't got anyone but us right now and if we can't step up, if _you_ can't step up, she is going to lose us, too. Because I am not going to stand around while she gets hurt again and again. Because I don't want to lose her, but I don't want to lose you either and when it comes down to it, I will always choose you. Always. So, if you can't pull yourself together and help me in keeping Amelie at least a bit safe, then she has to go back into care because I will not allow her to be hurt by being with us any longer."

Letting out a harsh breath, John added, "You got that, Sherlock?"

* * *

_John is letting Amelie go for me? He doesn't want her hurt, but he doesn't want to lose me by choosing her… But, John. I don't… This is different. I don't get it. I don't want you to choose me. I don't want Amelie to be alone. No. She can't be alone. _

"I understand, John."

A sarcastic laugh replies and John incredulously asks, "Really?"

"I do not like repeating things and here we are repeating nearly the same conversation. I said last time I had a problem. Yet, we didn't discuss it. John, my dilemma is that I care. I care about you and I care about Amelie. I care about her a lot and I blame…"

Sherlock took a moment to collect himself before continuing. Slowly, the detective was losing his emotional stability.

"I blame myself for everything that happened to her. You said it. Not even a month. I almost went back on everything again. I tried to cut myself off because these emotions are clouding. There is too much sentimentality and I am uncomfortable. I, the great detective everyone believes I am, am not so great. I cannot take care of those I hold dear and here I am, making you choose once more, my life over another. I won't have you do it, John. If I mess up again, if I break down once more, do not let Amelie go. Do not. You are right. I am wrong. No one deserves to be hurt time and time again. I had it happen to my self once and by my own doing. I want to prevent it from happening to her."

Both men stood in the darkness, when the clouds suddenly broke and pale light spilled over both of them. John could see the overwhelming hollowness of Sherlock as he was incapable of shedding tears. Instead of crying, Sherlock sank into himself; a wallowing pit of despair.

Sherlock could see the set jaw and the furtive clenching of John's hand, but also, the gaining softness around his hard pressed lips. Sherlock took another step forward, only an arm's length away from John and said, "I cannot promise I will be perfect, John. This is… new. But, I am going to sincerely try. For Amelie. For you. For me."

The good doctor gave a curt nod and said, "Let's stop standing out here, then, and go build a ho-"

John was quickly cut off as Sherlock wrapped himself tightly around the shorter man's stature. There was too much detective and too little soldier, so the man nearly eclipsed John.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Muffled, Sherlock said, "I am beginning my rebuild. Physical contact and acknowledgement is my ground zero."

John laughed and wrapped his own arms around Sherlock. "Listen. This is nice and all, but now is not the best of times to start construction. We have Amelie still inside and we left her with Mycroft and a teenage boy. Plus, it is bloody cold out here."

Sherlock stiffened immediately and stepped away from John. "Right. Yes. Amelie. Must take care of her."

The detective then began running the other way, while holding on to John's hand to tug him along. The limp had disappeared completely in the rush of things and John asked for Sherlock to slow down. Sherlock only laughed and said, ""There is no wait for Step Two!"

* * *

Both doctor and detective burst into Amelie's room in huffing and giggling breaths. They were quickly cut off, though, as they saw the empty room.

John looked at the crumpled bed sheets, the left behind clothes, and the smudge of red left on white fibers and concluded the worst. Sherlock, however, saw much more than what was on the surface.

_Clothing left behind means change of clothes. Change of clothes could only be brought by a nurse and would only be left if someone were still here. The blood rules out Mycroft, as he is incompetent, he isn't so much as to be unable to take out an IV correctly. So, William, then. Knows the hospital well and could have helped Amelie escape, if an escape is what occurred. Where did they go, though?_

John was asking Sherlock an array of questions, but the detective did not hear as he stepped closer to the pile of clothes that had been left. Peeking out was Amelie's necklace and Sherlock suddenly came to an idea of where they would be.

"John?"

"What Sherlock?!"

"Parks, John. A park is where she has gone before, she must have gone once again."

Sherlock turned around from Amelie's clothes, clutching the vibrant jewelry, and looked at John for an answer.

Shaking his head, John said, "How the hell do you know she wasn't taken?"

Looking around once more, at the missing gauze, the careful placement of clothes, then the faint blackened mark of rubber, Sherlock said, "Trust me, John. Biggest park is Stepney…"

Sherlock placed both hands on the side of his head and quickly mapped out how to get there. Letting out a satisfied noise, Sherlock said, "Come on, John!"

They both quickly ran out of the room, passing stunned nurses who flitted about wondering where their patient had gone and a small stone glinting under passing lights.

* * *

Amelie looked frantically around for an escape knowing that the ungainly and red-faced boy had no intentions of kind acts as he strode closer. Still, none presented them to her, so she began to do what she did best. She became logical.

"Your aims are not decent, Jeremy. What did I do to deserve them?"

The boy stopped a footstep away from her chair and said, "You talked about my mum and you picked the wrong kid to hang around."

_Oh yes. Mother. I did talk about her. Apologies. _

Stuttering, Amelie said, "Yes… Well… I can also tell you a lot more about yourself that I am sure you wouldn't want your… Followers to hear."

_Bluff. Absolute bluff. Buy it, you brute._

"And what would that be?"

_Check clothing. Raised pant leg. Yellow stained sock with printed images of animals. Bulge in right coat pocket, piece of red yarn… Mother is an alcoholic, but she is still his mother and him, her son. A mother's boy. Go out on an extremely long limb, Amelie. Say something childish._

"Nightlights."

Jeremy's eyes immediately widened and he whipped around to see if any of his "friends" had heard that. He saw them holding Will by the lapel of his coat collar, not paying attention to their conversation. He took a moment longer to look at how hard William was fighting against his crew and considered just what inspired such hostility in him. It was only a fleeting thought as he returned to Amelie. Menacingly, but with a hint of begging, Jeremy asked, "Don't say that again, please? I have a serious reputation to uphold."

Amelie smirked and said, "Of course you do. Now let Will go and run along before I slip up and say something about, I don't know, your yarn mittens?"

A pudgy hand immediately went to the full pocket and the boy quickly began to walk away. He told his friends to throw William away and that Amelie wasn't worth it. Complaints were heard, but the group reluctantly agreed, tossing Will away from them, and followed Jeremy's hasty retreat, with a few glances behind their backs.

Amelie looked away from their fading forms and to the shuffling William Fallion. "You could've done something there."

Will shook his head and said, "I tried… But no. I really couldn't."

Taken aback Amelie asked, "Why not? He was… He was going to do _something_ and you were going to let it happen!"

"I know, but you don't understand."

_Don't understand?_ "Do elaborate, William."

Will's Adam apple bobbed as he swallowed heavily. "You see, no one knows about my sis. Last time this happened to her, the last time she got cancer, she had to get her head shaved and everyone, including them, would bully her. They would even come to the hospital and taunt her. Then it went into remission, but now… Now it is back and it is worse than ever and I don't want her to deal with that. Not again. She hasn't much time and I want her to be as… As happy as possible. If I had done something or been able to do something, they would have followed me around. They would have seen the hospital and they would have known, Amelie."

_Oh. That is… Sentimentally logical… _"I am sorry, Will."

Sighing, Will replied, "Don't apologize. It isn't your fault. I shouldn't have even brought us out here, let alone taken you out of the hospital."

Amelie's mind immediately went back to a few minutes ago, where his lips had brushed softly against her own. Where she found the closest sensual contact she had ever had in her life and she immediately scolded herself for being emotional about it. "Does that mean we should get back, now?"

It was obvious to see that Will noticed the hurt that Amelie quickly covered up. He smiled sadly and nodded, "Yeah, we should."

Again, the hurt subtly leapt across her bruised, yet sweet features, so Will continued, "But, we were a bit interrupted, weren't we. I mean, what is the point of coming out here if we don't finish what, you know, we started?"

_Is he implying that he would want to brush lips again? I think that'd be... nice. A good reference for personal use. Even if I am still a bit annoyed he acted flimsy, this is vital information that I lack. _

Nearly rushed, Amelie stated, "William, I consent."

Bringing his face down to meet hers, William gently said, "I am really quite glad of that, Miss Emmerton."

With an imagination running rampant, playing climactic music within her head, she felt the once, too far, distance close with the closer body heat of Will warming her face. Just as their lips were about to "brush" each other once more, a low-pitched and question roar shot across the snow kissed landscape.

"AMELIE?"

* * *

**The end... Just kidding, we still have I don't know how many chapters to go. Anyways! I hope you all enjoyed it and if one of you REALLY observant ones noticed, Amelie didn't have her necklace on. Just keep it in mind that I'll get to that :) I hit a secret milestone with this story, so I decided the best way to thank you all is to invite you all over for tea. But as it will be noticed, that is a lot of tea that I don't have. So instead I will do this:**

**I say thank you every time and I am sure that one of you thinks it is simply to be brown-nosed, but honestly, this is one of the best things that has ever happened to me. The joy that I get when I see that another person has even considered to read my writing is a near drowning experience. I try, so hard, to make sure that you, the readers, are happy with my writing and am a nervous wreck every time I update. Yet, it is always expelled as I see the views spike, and the reviews increase, and another person decides they want to stick with me. It is humbling and exciting and again, the best thing that happens to me these lazy Sunday mornings. So, thank you. Truly and wholly. Thank you.**

**-HS**


	18. Hurt

Will stared at Amelie and Amelie stared back at him.

_Oh shit. _

Will quickly stood up and skipped a step or two away from her chair as he watched two men stride quickly towards them. He avoided Amelie's look of confusion and hurt and prepared himself for dealing with two pissed off guardians.

_Scratch that. Two pissed off friends who are male and older than me. Good job, Fallion. Great job._

A long angular face was suddenly in front of his and said, "Leave. _Now._"

Taking a quick moment to look around the terrifying man and at a still, very confused Amelie, Will nodded his head and said, "Yes, sir."

Moving as fast as possible without making it seem like he was running away, Will looked back at John and Sherlock and quietly said, "I am sorry."

Again, the malicious voice ripped through the night and thundered, "LEAVE!"

_Right. Yes. Leaving. Merry Christmas._

* * *

Curiously watching Will leave her and feeling the cold bite at her cheeks, Amelie turned on John and Sherlock and softly asked, "Why did you make him leave?"

John, who was kneeling in front of her, turned around to look at a visibly steaming consulting detective.

Sherlock snapped at Amelie, "What were you thinking?"

_Is he upset with me?_

Amelie turned to John as his eyes met up with her own again and looked for some solace. All she found was weariness and a subtle anger.

_Are they both upset?_

Amelie recognized the loud, yet noiseless, presence of Sherlock had moved closer and looked past John to see the man standing closely behind him.

"Answer me," he demanded.

The yellow, near sickly, light of the lampposts seemed to turn a shade more crimson as she heard the bitterness drip out of the demand. "I am thinking I don't understand why you both are as upset as you are."

A warm John hand crossed the skin of her wrist as he checked her vitals and was an obvious sign that he didn't want to talk. Sherlock easily destroyed the silence.

"Amelie. You are not well. Your father tried to murder you, put you in a hospital, and now you are out here, in the cold, with a _boy_ who you have only just met. Did you honestly believe..."

_And the light goes red. _

Pushing John harshly away from her, Amelie erupted by saying, "Is that why you are upset? Because I am out here? With a _boy_? Whose name is actually William!"

Sherlock tried to say something, but Amelie didn't stop.

"What? I honestly believed what? You know, Sherlock? I wasn't fucking thinking. For a moment, the world was just fine. I forgot about my father and I forgot about the pain and I forgot about how not _normal_ I am because for just a moment, for just one god damn moment, Sherlock, that _boy,_ got me to forget."

Everyone was breathing heavily by the time she finally finished her rant. Coldly, Amelie said, "I am sorry I had you worried. Clearly, you are both worried, but I wasn't thinking. For once, I didn't become rational or logical. I was stupid. And you know what? It was so stupid. We met some idiots and I got them to run away because I picked out weaknesses about a kid and I almost had an actual emotional attachment and my side hurts like hell and it is freezing out and you are both pissed off with me, but, again. For one moment, everything didn't matter. I was free. Right now, though, I hurt. I hurt a lot. "

John climbed off the ground and Amelie felt the tingling of crying arise. She didn't mean to push him away and she didn't mean to make Sherlock, a man so cold and calculating, feel, and she didn't mean to be stupid. She just wanted freedom and with freedom, there is always a price. Being an American teenager left alone in a world so full of restrictions and violence left very little room to breathe.

John quietly said, "I told you, Sherlock. It happened again."

_What happened again?_

Amelie looked between the two men as they shared a near pained look. Sherlock looked like he wanted to say something, but pressed his lips tightly together instead. John turned towards Amelie and murmured, "Let's get you back to the hospital. Your vitals are way off."

Moving to the back of her wheelchair, John began to roll her forward, but Amelie refused to let him move her. "What is going on?"

The pained look passed between them again and no one spoke. Silently, Sherlock moved forward and without a word, as all words had been suddenly knocked from him since the ferocious argument of Amelie, placed her necklace carefully within her hand. He quickly walked away, then, and Amelie allowed John to move her.

She gazed thoughtfully at the colorful stone and let a tear fall. She didn't mean to leave it behind, but she forgot about how close she was to having an actual home and now she has gone and screwed it all up. And it hurt. It hurt worse than any pain she ever felt.

_That's what's wrong. Hurt so many times and they don't want it to happen again. They are going to send me away. Christmas tradition is kept up. Well done, Dad. Well done._

* * *

Sherlock kept a far and fast pace in front of John and Amelie and the near deathly silence accompanied them the entire way. They passed a group of kids, one of whom sent a near pleading look towards Amelie, but Sherlock didn't bother to understand what it meant. Everything about him turned into a solid emotionless weight as he replayed Amelie's words over and over.

_'Right now, though. I am hurt. I am hurt a lot.' John said if she's going to be hurt again, she is going to go away. If I didn't snap at her, then maybe she wouldn't be hurt. Maybe we could've just gone back to the hospital and it would be all fine and it would be good again. _

Looking behind him, he saw the light distorted sporadically as one drop of liquefied crystal fell after another. He recognized that Amelie was crying and he saw how upset John looked once more and Sherlock began to hate himself.

_I keep hurting everyone. Even John... Twice tonight..._

* * *

_Are we really going to do this? I said it. And not even an hour later... I am selfish. I am a selfish bastard. I don't want to lose her. I don't._

John continued to push on Amelie's wheelchair, being plagued by self-hatred and confliction and worry about how horribly fluctuating Amelie's pulse was.

* * *

Nearing the hospital, sounds of Christmas joy played soothingly throughout the air and the feathery wisps of falling snowflakes curled and danced harmoniously with each other, swirling harmlessly around passing pedestrians. It was supposed to be a festive and loving time and everyone who passed the trio seemed to get along just fine. But all three entered the looming medical building in a stony silence, even though every thought was nearly the same within each mind.

Amelie. _I don't want to go._

John. _I don't want her to go._

Sherlock. _I don't want to be alone..._


	19. Always

After going through the longest series of protocols and check ups, Amelie found herself back in that dastardly white gown and being forcefully tucked into pristine bed sheets.

She tried to prepare herself for the scolding that was going to happen as soon as she was finally placed back in her room, but all she got was a disapproving look from the nurse and a quiet tut from the doctor. John and Sherlock didn't say anything either. They simply stood silent on opposite sides of the room, casually glancing at each other. The silence was, in its own way, worse than being yelled at. When you have to bear through the rising of voices and the breaks of noise as a roar becomes too loud, one can always be comforted by the fact that they are fighting through it. One can understand what they have done wrong and apologize because that is what's expected when you make another angry. Yet, if a person is silent, what can a teenager do, except think about the world in the most vehement shades of negativity.

_I shouldn't have left. I shouldn't have snapped. I shouldn't have cried. I shouldn't have even come to England. At least I would always have the knowledge that I would never have something close to a family. At least then, I wouldn't have something to lose. At least then, life would be simple once again because Dad would've killed me by now. He would have killed me and I would no longer be a burden to the world. But now, look what I am doing. I have broken apart the closest of men, I have terrified my only possible teenage friend, and I have destroyed the one hope I had at ever finding a home. Now, my head hurts like hell and my vision is going spotty and I just want to sleep the rest of my days away. I can't stand the world and the world could care even less about me. I just want to sleep..._

* * *

John sat as far away from Sherlock without having to leave the room. He had asked the doctor to check Amelie, but all he received was a glare and sneer. So, here he sat until the doctor returned to actually do his job. Here he sat thinking about the message he left idle within his text drafts, softly grazing over the send button, trying to send the damned thing. Yet, his thumb couldn't press just a fraction harder because to do so would mean the end of a path of parenthood. It would mean the end of changing Amelie's life for the better. It would mean losing the one thing that he could actually see Sherlock care about and John didn't know if he could take away the amount of life that Amelie brought to both of their lives in such a short time.

So, as John sat there, looking between a disheartened and astonishingly quiet Sherlock Holmes and a distraught and tear-stained teenager, he allowed his thumb to gently press down on a button that would change everything. He pressed, "Delete."

Satisfied with his decision, yet still conflicted over the path that it would create, John leaned back and sent a small nod over at Sherlock, knowing the consulting detective was watching his every move. Out of the corner of his eye, as John had turned back to look at Amelie, he saw the man carve a small smile out of his seemingly placid face.

_Good, you snarky man. I'll give us another shot. I don't want to lose her just yet. We can do this, you and I, and you know that._

* * *

_He nodded at me. Changed sitting position. He is comfortable and satisfied and overall relaxed. We are keeping her._

Sherlock couldn't help but smile at the thought of another chance. If he was going to choose to be sentimental over one thing other than John, then he was going to go all the way. At least, show it with a grin here or there.

He glanced over at Amelie to try to seal the deal. He saw her nodding her head slowly into her chest and had a small smile peek out at the corner of his mouth once more, thinking of how everything should be alright.

_Yes. Everything should be alright. It is interesting, though. We meant to only keep her until Moriarty was a problem left solved. Then, her father came round and what is the only logical thing we could have done? We had to keep her and now... It is only logical. We should always keep her. She belongs with no one better._

* * *

_So. Tired. _

Amelie's head fell once more into her chest and stayed there, but as soon as she fell into the trap of slumber, she found herself startled awake by what she saw there.

_Streaks of blood painted across a window. Blue eyes, shining in a looming darkness. Hands coated in an oily black liquid that smelled like a decomposing animal. A decomposing animal that has died so violently, that no vulture would dare touch it and it reeks with the stench of Death._

Amelie closed her eyes trying to force herself into sleep, but images of bright scarlet, intense blue ice, hard leather boots, and drowning in the ink of the murkiest black flashed beneath her eyelids.

She opened her eyes tiredly and looked at John, hoping he would at least talk to her, but he had gone back to looking at Sherlock, as the consulting detective was now occupied with looking at her.

With the need of rest clogging her voice, Amelie asked, in hopes of some reaction, "Can I... Can I get something to help me sleep?"

Sherlock looked surprised at the sudden break in silence and turned to John for help.

John simply nodded and leaned over to press a call button. All was quickly done without a word; reaction, but without a sound.

A call nurse came in and only she could wrench words out of the army doctor. "What do you need?"

Tilting his head towards Amelie, John said, "She needs something to help her sleep."

_Yes. Please. Something to keep me asleep forever. _

The nurse bobbed her head once and left to get whatever drug they were going to drown her system with. Amelie groped around uselessly in her mind for something to get them to talk to her, to get them to tell her they still wanted her, but she came up with nothing. Too soon the nurse had returned and was inserting a clear liquid into her IV stream and Amelie immediately felt it cloud her mind with a blank luxury.

_Thank you._

Easily, she slipped into the awaiting coma, and found a tender solace in letting the drugs do their work. Before Amelie finally went under, she groggily asked, "Are you going to still be here when I wake up?"

Not knowing who answered, Amelie heard, "Of course."

Hanging on to the last thread of consciousness, Amelie asked one more question. "Do... Do you still... Can I stay?"

Sleep spilled over her mind and she barely caught the answer.

"As long as you want."

* * *

When Amelie's eyelids finally fluttered closed for the last time, Sherlock stood up and crossed the room to stand directly in front of John.

"Really?"

Startled, John gripped the back of his chair as he half stood up. His military training quickly ebbed out as he realized he was in no danger and slowly, John sank back into the uncomfortable plastic of the hospital's finest seating. "Really what?"

An incredulous eye roll replied and Sherlock said, "Don't be dull. Are we really keeping her?"

Sherlock could see John try to keep an emotionless façade playing on his face, but he was a canvas that is rarely blank. With John, Sherlock can easily see him paint in colors of red as his fury storms across his eyes. He can watch as he makes strokes in auburn as he finds comfort within his ravaged soul. Right now, the canvas was being gradually covered with the kindest of yellows as John lit up with the obvious pleasure of saying, "Yes, Sherlock. We will always keep her."

Granted, John did not say those words, but the small laughter and smiles said everything that he did not. He revealed his affirmation like when one pulls the sheet away from a masterpiece and allows it to flutter to the ground, showing the vivid colors that lay beneath. John's face experienced the pull and Sherlock knew that words were not needed.

_Of course we are keeping her._

* * *

**Hello! So, one, I want to thank you all for getting me past 100 reviews *squeals a bit* and well, really, I just want to thank you all. That is pretty much it. Anyways, I went to a Doctor Who convention in Tampa and it was so much fun and I understand that it isn't quite relevant, but I met a Sherlock there and she was so cool and well. That is all. Really. I am done now. *slowly backs away* *thanks you one more time***

**-HS**


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